


Two Sides

by codename



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Nayeon Is A Nerd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25940830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codename/pseuds/codename
Summary: To save the crumbling student council, they recruit Nayeon to run a confessions booth, confident that she'll get the job done. Except, one of her confessors happens to be Sana, and things go down from there.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 20
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> everyone lets give it up for [this sanayeon moment](https://twitter.com/samoyeon/status/1291719801832792064?s=20) for being the sole reason i wrote this

Contrary to popular belief, the student council is a mess. A mess that can only be helped by the clever, practically non-existent Nayeon.

“You’re particularly quiet,” comes one voice.

And another. “No one would know it’s you.”

A barrage of other masked insults posing as positive qualities shortly follow.

Nayeon makes a face, useless against the din of hushed, panicky murmurs.

From being escorted (read: unwillingly dragged) off the serenity of the bleachers to attend a meeting, which reeks of desperation, she figures she could be in worse places.

(Like hanging out with the _loner_ loners in the library’s graphic novels corner, or if the _mean_ cheerleaders had decided on practice, she would be getting kicked off the bleachers right about now.)

Maybe it was the way she was sat across all six incompetent members of the student council, or that they forced a light onto her like a tawdry police interrogation that would eventually squeeze out a confession — something that would only come from pure restlessness, if anything.

And that against everything telling her no, their project seemed convincing, even if the means of employment that happened to match Nayeon perfectly were somewhat humiliating.

“So what do you say?” the one in the middle, Jihyo, asks firmly. Almost as if she had already got the deal in the bag.

 _You’re not really going to agree to this,_ she warns herself.

Though, it doesn’t do much to stop her ill-advised sympathy forming the three words not even the people in front of her expected.

(Consider this Nayeon’s monthly charitable act.)

“I’ll do it.”

Regret floods into her like a leak in the hull of a ship.

It’s short and curt, and interrupts the wailing and begging primarily coming from their treasurer, the entire pressure of lost budgets weighing down on her shoulders eased by Nayeon’s sudden agreement.

From the outside, it didn’t seem a good proposal.

Saving the no good stu-co in exchange for running a confessions booth every lunchtime, with a price equivalent to convenience store noodles (the more attractive product, in retrospect) for the frankly unreasonable five minutes to spew out your problems to someone who really couldn’t care less.

(It’s for thirty-percent of the profits, Nayeon reiterates.)

(Or tries to, at least.)

For being a few minutes into the job with no real advice being given, Nayeon figures she’s not doing half-bad. She’s situated in one of the empty alcoves of the student council’s meeting room, a makeshift cardboard divider and curtain acting as a booth.

It’s… bearable. She gets one of the nice office swivel chairs and the fairy lights excavated from their storage cupboard that took some muscle to plough through. Disregarding the fact she has to stare through flattened out fishnet tights as she talks to compensate for their attempt at copying an actual confessional, then maybe the money is worth it.

(Knowing people’s secrets and trying to guess who they are, even better.)

There’s a nice sign Chaeyoung painted too, but it repelled more than it attracted. Not everyone’s for abstractness.

A piece of paper gets slid under the curtains to Nayeon’s feet, and the loud grumble from the other side heralds another whiny confessor.

**CONFESSION #13**

**Thank you for using the Student Council’s Confessions Booth. Please refrain from using any offensive or vulgar language.**

** I’ve got a problem with girls lately. Usually don’t have any. **

“That’s it?” Nayeon whispers, mostly to herself.

With these visitors you’d usually expect a whole essay written and a swear word or two totally ignoring the warning printed uselessly at the top.

But it’s simple. Strangely _too_ to the point.

A voice suddenly pipes up. It’s high-pitched and breathy, a welcomed change to the twelve other boys before her worried about the same thing.

“Uh, hello?”

She sounds nice, which is what Nayeon always assumes before the upcoming conversation that will probably prove her wrong. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“Not even a greeting?”

Nayeon clears her throat. “You’re not the president. Four-fifty.”

“Alright, fine,” the girl starts, harsher in her tone. “First, my name is—”

The sound of Nayeon suddenly perking up and hitting the wall makes for a decent interruption. As much as the student council preached about confidentiality for this whole venture, it seemed hard enough when everyone who walked in didn’t seem to understand what that word meant at all.

“You said,” Nayeon unfolds the paper in her hands, glad to have dodged a bullet. “You have girl problems. And that you usually don’t have any. Is that why you’re here?”

She sputters towards the end, half-amused. The girl scoffs on the other side.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Nayeon shrugs. It seemed all that high-schoolers were worried about lately were their relationship screw-ups. “Nothing. Go on.”

“Just a series of bad choices. Well, obviously, I don’t make them as much anymore. I just think I hurt everyone I like, in some way.”

“Obviously.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nayeon shuts her eyes briefly, before groaning. “I’m not here to answer questions,” and it sounds a little too blunt, so she quickly amends, “unfortunately.”

“Well, you’re right. Maybe I do it too often — but I don’t mean to. I get super busy with competitions.”

Nayeon’s silence urges her on.

“And I’m worried. Because I like someone else, and worse thing is she’s kinda… a loner. You know? Not the weird ones in the library, though.”

There was only one way to diagnose such behaviour, and with Nayeon’s temperament and self-assessed excellent listening skills, her patience decides upon a cheerleader or something within the same popularity bracket. It was highly likely. From the painfully tangled love-life and cheery voice, it pointed to the direction of pompoms and synchronised routines.

Unless, she’s in the completely wrong ballpark. After all, Tzuyu is a cheerleader too, just on the more rare, tolerable side, and whoever this girl is, she’s far up on the scale of fussy, insufferable hoity-toity girls with maddeningly sweet voices that Nayeon has come to despise.

That, or this booth is churning her brain and reasoning into sludgy mush.

“Sounds tough,” is all Nayeon can offer.

“My ex didn’t take it well. And I only date people who, you know, are in my league, so this is pretty inconvenient.”

Nayeon winces.

Respect has dwindled to zero.

(Not that she had any to begin with.)

Of course, she doesn’t have the time nor the energy to ask why she’s so finicky, or to probe further as to why she has such standards. Love makes people stupid sometimes, which is why Nayeon considers herself a genius.

“I think that’s like, top three in my worst relationships,” she continues, but Nayeon sits still in her silent frustration.

So she was a heartbreaker. How lousy. Nayeon could relate, if she wanted to, but it goes as far as looking at someone and declaring she hates them. She’s never really liked anyone, not like this person.

“Like it mega-hurt. I actually feel sorry this time.”

There were guidelines, although slightly hurried and made only on the basis of uniformity, stating that she was simply a listener that should chime in only when needed. Except, Jihyo, or the student council, were no where to be seen, and well, she’s the one getting paid for this.

“What did you do?”

Then comes the stories.

So a _cruel_ heartbreaker.

Well, they are sort of intertwined. She was hoping for an accidental heartbreaker, honestly. Like, a change, a kink in the trope. It is all a little jarring, the honeyed voice expounding all the intricacies of her break-ups. Seemed a little too paradoxical.

The formula for a popular girl, if anything.

“I’m kind of a jerk, I guess is what I’m confessing,” she finishes, though the absence of sounding even a tad heartfelt suggests otherwise.

Nayeon wants to agree, but she holds her tongue.

“You were lying then.”

The girl raises a brow. “About what?”

Another question. Nayeon set herself up for that one.

“You said you don’t usually have girl problems. Everything you just told me seems to point to the opposite.”

“This happened, like, three weeks ago and before that. Technically, I’m doing better now.”

“Is that not recent to you?”

“That’s _recent_ to you?”

Nayeon rubs her temple feebly, trying to remind herself that she was simply there to take in their confessions, nothing more. No matter how frustrating it was and how appropriate it seemed to get mad.

“Well, it’s good you can confess to this,” Nayeon attempts to reassure, even if it’s just one of the prompts Tzuyu had typed up just in case she feels like ruining someone’s day by shoving the cold, harsh truth at them like she normally would.

“So…” says the girl.

“So,” says Nayeon. “Unless you have any other confessions, you can go.”

 _All you can do is offer your listening services_ ; she repeats. Jihyo (engraved in her mind from pure fear) had clearly stated it was a place for students to spill out their heart’s desire on things they would avoid talking to the counsellor for. _Not_ to offer advice.

“You don’t have to be so serious,” she smiles, though she knows Nayeon can’t see. “I know you’re probably reading off something.”

“We don’t accept refunds if you’re not satisfied with your time,” ironic of Nayeon to recite, but nothing else really came to mind.

“Really?”

“Sixty seconds,” Nayeon drawls.

The girl shuffles.

“Fine. Can I ask you something?”

Nayeon sighs. “You can, but that doesn’t mean I’ll disclose anything.”

There’s ruffling on the other side, then a genuinely disappointed huff. Nayeon assumes it’s a piece of paper — their poorly printed flier— from the sound of crumpling and the impact it makes on the floor.

“Stupid fine print,” she whines, already getting up from her seat. It prompts Nayeon to look down at her watch. “Whatever. Ten seconds left, right? Let me spare you the trouble.”

Calculated.

Different from the rest of the bunch.

“Have a nice day,” Nayeon adds wryly.

The sound of the curtains wafting around aggressively seem to be her response.

Which also signals the last confession of the day.

Thankfully.

The next day, due to Nayeon’s insistence she’d like to eat lunch and the absence of any council members offering to substitute her, the booth remained closed. They had adequate funds to miss a day, much to Nayeon’s surprise. At least, she could feast on actual food rather than juicy gossip.

Back to the bleachers, simultaneously her beloved alone-time spot and the point of abduction by the student council, Nayeon’s head slowly rises after a mouthful of salad.

“Minatozaki. Myoui. To what do I owe the… pleasure.” She forces out the word like an unpleasant flavour intruded on her taste buds.

Of course, she’d have to be placed in the wrong place at the wrong time. To the average onlooker, this entire scenario looks like an elaborate bullying scene where someone, most definitely, is getting verbally shit on.

Nayeon, surprisingly, (despite her acknowledgement she’s not exactly on the same level as the mysterious captain and her gangly shadow that follows her, or on the same level as the blonde that’s dubbed the best on the cheerleading team) doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of all of it.

It takes a few seconds before Nayeon really starts to feel the inferiority kick in, just by the way they’re stood, and the horrendous cheer uniform she’s trying her best not to laugh at, or the way Sana stares at her with a stupidly enormous grin—

“How’s the food?” Sana asks, unperturbed.

Mina, flanking her from behind, sighs. “Afternoon, Nayeon.”

It looks as if it wouldn’t take long to shoo them away, considering practice was about to start soon, as it always does, at the same time. Which should be the same time Nayeon’s inhaling her salad, undisturbed and serene.

Salad, sadly, remains in the tub.

Not in her stomach.

“Should I be concerned about what’s happening right now?” Her eyes are wide, gaze shifting between Sana, ultimately dazed in whatever fantasy she’s imagining, and Mina, ever composed and… sort of ominous.

Sana takes a seat unusually close, hand placed carefully behind her. Her attempts at intimidation (so Nayeon believes), is what every popular girl did. It was seemingly textbook. Shuffle up close to your victim, and not hear a peep of protest because you’re mystically alluring and suddenly all notions of being creepy are thrown out the window.

(Nayeon wouldn’t like to comment on that theory.)

But Nayeon was also _not_ such a victim.

Sana throws her pom-poms in Mina’s direction, a hand waving her away. Mina only takes two steps back, but it was enough.

“Oh, no, don’t mind me. Just wanted to see the view from up here,” Sana half-coos from her reign of the bleachers.

Nayeon follows the arc Sana circles across the field. It’s not the most pleasant view.

Mina shakes her head, mirthlessly smiling. “You stare a lot,” she adds helpfully.

Sana raises an irritated eyebrow in her direction.

Well.

Considering Nayeon is the only one that really dared to sit in this specific spot overlooking the cheerleaders’ practice, anyone would assume that. And the squad _is_ filled with extremely pretty — off topic, but Nayeon can’t confirm nor deny the claims.

“Don’t you have practice?” Nayeon sits up straighter, guarding her salad with her life. “Also, I don’t quite appreciate the… proximity.”

Sana, of course, ignores her. Mina looks pointedly at her watch.

“Do you like the view?” Sana asks.

Nayeon grimaces. At Sana. Then at Mina. Who is slipping in between looking wholly concerned and forcing a consoling smile, stance halfway turned to Sana like a distressed parent watching their child bombard a poor nobody with awkward lines — that Nayeon still doesn’t quite understand the purpose of — while her eyes remain fixated on the field.

Things haven’t been exactly normal lately, if Nayeon can force herself to accept that for a little comfort.

Questions followed her everywhere. Questions she didn’t particularly have the answer to. She suffered enough listening to boys drone on about their failed love life and rejections, the casual drop of something weird, or completely tame ones, such as this confession Nayeon remembers vividly:

**CONFESSION #9**

**Thank you for using the Student Council’s Confessions Booth. Please refrain from using any offensive or vulgar language.**

** I cheated on my Maths test. My life is ~~fucking~~ over.  **

And something else about parents, disowning, yada-yada. Not entirely important, but at least she got money nodding along to a student’s fruitless plea for help. The point is, Nayeon just had to treat this as another listening session. Even if Sana had to grate her ear off for it to end.

“No,” she says simply, eyes tearing away from the field, fork ready to stab the lettuce. “I like this green better.”

Sana hums noncommittally, not engaged even though she asked the question (Nayeon can save being offended for later), a tomato somehow in her hand. “Do you mind?”

“You’ve already got it—” Nayeon mumbles, and it disappears into loud chews. She wasn’t sure if this was a subtle act of ‘getting picked on’, but it sure felt like it. Nothing particularly nice exudes from this whole encounter.

Mina’s face is concentrated on her wrist, finger tapping along to the seconds.

“Look,” Nayeon manages a quick piece into her mouth, the taste ultimately bitter and completely rid of its magnificence no thanks to their timely interruption, and she places down her food with a thud.

It takes a bit of bravery, even if deep down she never was rattled by being closed in on by two popular girls. “Can you go annoy someone else?”

And just then, Mina speaks. “Time. Let’s go.”

“Wait—”

Sana’s wrist is gripped by Mina’s, and she’s suddenly dragged off the stands.

“—Mina, we’ve got ten seconds left, why are you rushing?!”

Nayeon exhales, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Cheerleaders.”

After sneaking in the box labelled as fresh prints for their fliers, she figures she deserves to celebrate her successful infiltration of food into the student council room.

So Nayeon, like the complete mastermind she is, has a box full of snacks inserted discreetly into a hidden corner, and a chocolate-lacquered strawberry in hand as her victory food while she swivels around. Not only a break from her booth duties, but a break from Jeongyeon and Momo causing her early hair loss from their frequent visits consisting mostly of overreacting while telling her she’s doing a good job.

Not the best way to treat someone the student council practically forced into menial work, but she’ll take their concern positively.

Amidst all this, Nayeon’s brief moment of indulgence, she grimaces at the piece of paper.

Slid under her feet.

Currently ruining all hopes for a little peace after the strangely unsettling customer encounter before that she remembers to notify the guidance counsellor for.

From the other side of the booth, someone hums.

“Hello?”

**CONFESSION #34**

**Thank you for using the Student Council’s Confessions Booth. Please refrain from using any offensive or vulgar language.**

** This is bad. **

From the already melting chocolate between her fingertips, and perhaps sensing that she has her attention divided on slipping in a few bites and responding, Nayeon relents, placing it back in its packet.

This girl.

Again.

“What’s so bad?” Nayeon heaves out.

The girl sniffs dramatically. “You don’t remember me? It’s about my friend this time, not in a romantic sense, M—” she pauses as if she were elbowed in the side, quickly fixing herself, “ _she_ like… blocked me. Is there a word for that? You know, like I could’ve talked to my crush.”

Crush.

It leaves a weird taste in her mouth, and varying degrees of disgust and sympathy. Nayeon restrains her otherwise unneeded comments, opting for something more light-hearted.

“You poor thing.”

Nayeon senses her eyes narrow. “This is serious! This was a huge chance, opportunity, everything — do or die!”

“Do or die?”

“Maybe _not_ do or die,” she can visualise her gesticulating wildly. “But, well, you get the gist.”

Well, no, not really.

High-school theatrics. Never failed to amuse her. “Then talk to her when your friend isn’t there.”

The girl snorts, either at Nayeon’s far-too simple suggestion or at how she sounded so sure of herself. “I thought you weren’t one for advice.”

“Right,” Nayeon blinks. “Confess away, then.”

“This friend, she’s one of my best friends, that I can’t deny. Though sometimes I think she’s a little too serious sometimes. I could’ve had a perfectly nice conversation,” the girl takes a breath, steaming on, “and we could’ve talked! It’s bad. I can’t even approach her properly.”

“You seem worked up about it,” Nayeon says vacantly.

“You’re being weirdly calm about this.”

Nayeon isn’t sure what she meant.

Or what was being implied.

Should she be as concerned as she is? She’s never been the one to approach first, or approach at all, in fact. Everyone’s a little guilty of wanting to strike up a conversation with someone they like, even Nayeon, maybe once.

“Thanks. It’s the shock. Give me five minutes, screaming _will_ happen.”

“Are you mocking me?”

Nayeon smiles. She knew she must’ve been doing the same, or at least scowling at her. “It’s my talent.”

“Talent my ass,” she says, switching to a solemn voice that almost gives Nayeon whiplash. “It still sucks. She’s a total dork. Like the type to read a book during lunch type of dork. Why’s talking to nerds harder than talking to normal people — that’s not fair, is it?”

“I think you make nerds,” Nayeon winces at the name, “reproachful. You could try be nicer, like not saying nerds, for a starter. Maybe that could help you.”

The girl suppresses a laugh. “That’s exactly what a nerd would say,” and Nayeon can just feel the triumphant finger pointing at her from the other side, “ _and_ your second piece of advice,” she remarks proudly.

It’ll take more than that to catch Nayeon in any trap. “It’s more of a request, if anything.”

When she waits a beat for a response, she hears a series of pondering huffs. Perhaps she was looking for more playful response.

“And maybe I am a nerd,” Nayeon adds, like an afterthought. There’s an exaggerated sigh as she jolts at the sudden jump the girl makes off her seat.

“Great! Graphic novels nerd or, uh — boringly studious nerd?” Nayeon can feel her lean in and her voice grow in volume, as if she’s about to reveal the secrets of being a decent person and simply avoiding student hierarchy.

“Two minutes,” Nayeon replies. “And no, I’m not going to answer that.”

The girl stares through the obscure divider, a little offended by the lack of a cooperative response. Still, it wasn’t enough to derail her from her efforts. “Can you at least tell me what things they like?”

Nayeon can’t help but think she’s started something that cannot possibly be resolved in a manner that isn’t demeaning.

“Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, just getting to know her?” The drop of Nayeon’s hands was unnecessarily loud, but her frustration became clear.

The girl groans. “Did you forget the part where, well, where I said I found it…” she leaves the statement dangling.

“Hard to approach her,” Nayeon shudders audibly. “A nerd?”

“You’re rubbing it in.”

“I’m being considerate.”

The girl nods, trying her best to look unaffected, even if Nayeon could only really see a blurry outline. “Of course you are.”

Nayeon prickles immediately. “Of course I am?”

“This is the worst five minutes of my life.”

“We don’t do refunds.”

“Whatever,” at least she sounded a little defeated. “If I find this little secret gets out, I’ll know who to look for.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

The girl pouts, and it comes out in her voice. “Sadly.”

“Excuse me?”

At that, the girl smiles broadly. At least the anonymous bickering hadn’t rattled her sense of humour. “Thirty seconds?” she asks. “And don’t get so excited. I was joking.”

Nayeon, still trying to recuperate from the attack on her patience, stares dumbly at her watch, then back at nothingness. “Almost. Twenty.”

“Almost,” the girl replies gruffly. “I’ll get it right one day.”

One day.

As if Nayeon _wanted_ to hear about the advancements of Miss Popular and the Unfortunate Nerd. Not that two times with the same girl means anything, but if it's going to become a staple visit every lunch, then she ought to raise the price.

A second of silence passes.

“And who knows? Maybe I’ll bag this nerd sooner than you think.”

That’s not the most graceful or sophisticated way to put it, though she continues, explaining her plan (though it’s hard to call it that with all the discrepancies), an onslaught of worst case scenarios filling Nayeon’s head.

She hadn’t met someone so overly confident in their obviously destined-to-fail ideas, if she excluded the student council, and someone who held their head so high they couldn’t see the mess beneath them.

This — it wasn’t far off.

Nayeon takes in something about ‘starting off slow’, the rest is drowned out by an encroaching headache.

“So — how is it? Perfect, I can assume.”

Far from perfect. Nayeon zips her mouth closed, humming in disagreement. “I’m not allowed to give advice.”

The girl makes an elongated, accusatory sound. “Time’s up isn’t it?”

Nayeon hangs her head as soon as she glances at her watch. Not like she had an obligation to actually answer, but she’s always had trouble accepting whenever she got out-smartassed.

She imagines her face; probably smiling, leaning back in her chair with an accomplished look. Maybe she had a chance of actually getting this poor girl, as much as Nayeon refused to acknowledge it.

“Just,” Nayeon forces out from her throat. “Good luck.”

On the offside, Mina is hunched over the table, laughing.

Tzuyu tears her eyes off her food in favour of the rare sight, staring down the two girls in front of her with incredulity. Perhaps she was dreaming. Between Sana’s rant on _her_ booth of all things, and Mina expressing her amusement, one of the two had to be unreal.

Sana hurtles over a slice of celery in Mina’s direction. “What’s so funny?”

Just like a reflex, Mina snaps back into her usual poised self. A hand wipes off the celery on her face before she responds. “It’s just that, you went to that booth thing — like, genuinely?”

“Don’t tell me you know the person behind the booth,” Tzuyu whispers to the table. The table, unfortunately, doesn’t respond. The table probably thought she was an idiot for thinking not _one_ person would recognise Nayeon’s voice. So much for being confidential.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Sana answers, Tzuyu bracing herself as she speaks. “As I was saying, _you_ should fire the brat who’s behind the booth.”

It does nothing to save the utter distress in Tzuyu’s heart, but she’ll take the momentary relief (and she’ll save being worried for Nayeon later).

Tzuyu cycles through her list of pressing concerns: the next council meeting, the charity bake sale, the never-ending problem that is Im Nayeon, and… “Jihyo — I’ll make sure she hears your suggestions.”

“It’s more of a demand,” Sana says inwardly, mumbling to herself. “But, whatever.”

Tzuyu pulls an apologetic face.

“Wait a second,” And Mina directs this to Tzuyu too, who almost launches her food into the air at the sudden attention. Mina’s eyes go huge like a repentant Labrador retriever. “Don’t tell Jihyo _I’m_ the one insulting her one pride and joy, will you?”

Tzuyu nods tentatively. Sana mock-vomits. “Just get married already.”

“I’ll be sure to send an invitation,” Mina says, taking a quick note of Sana rolling her eyes. “So, Tzuyu? Is it actually selling? I don’t have to listen to a sob story when I meet Jihyo again after-school?”

“It’s definitely not a conventional way of raising money,” Tzuyu admits. She tries her best to be vague, she’s not sure what Jihyo’s stance is on it. “But it’s definitely doing a good job.”

And as timing will have it, Sana sees the book-loving, salad-eating, short-haired Nayeon wander into the cafeteria like a new-born. Or, alternatively, a nerd who looks like it’s her first time navigating the lands of populated spaces, walks in.

“Jihyo will never tell me,” Mina muses, carrot half-way inside her mouth. “But who’s behind the booth?”

Tzuyu crumbles.

Sana leans forward sharply. “Nayeon,” she says casually through a bite, eyes away from the conversation.

Tzuyu —

No, she ceased to exist at this point.

A melted pile of misery seemed more accurate.

She’ll live vicariously through Mina’s shock in the meantime.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Mina asks, fork hanging loosely between her fingers, eyebrows rapidly intruding on her hairline.

“Her? No, I mean—” Sana un-paused her hands and scurried her utensils around the plate, picking at nothing in particular.

It’s not effective.

Mina and Tzuyu stare at her, bemused.

“I need to talk to her,” Sana relents, not at any point meeting their eyes. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

And before Sana could hear the words of protests, she leaves a half-catatonic Tzuyu and confused Mina at the table.

“Slow,” Sana repeats as she rushes over, smoothing over any wrinkles on her varsity jacket.

Loud footsteps break Nayeon’s reverie. She looks up to the interruption, almost tumbling over at the pure misfortune of it all. If something were out to get her, it was most definitely this.

Nayeon sighs. “Not you…”

Sana gives a beaming smile, one hand rested on the nearby vending machine. “What brings you here?”

(It couldn’t be more stiltedly said, but an attempt is an attempt.)

Just to confirm it herself, Nayeon looks all around her to see if she was the girl in question. It took herculean effort for her to convince herself there was no way out of this one, and that she was either going to get wholly humiliated or stared down to hell with the eyes of the cheerleading team’s prized member.

Nayeon decides to do what she does best, which is respond without a hint of interest.

“Food,” she looks around blankly. “Which is what the cafeteria is for.”

Sana nods. “Want a muffin?”

Oh.

Not muffins.

Truthfully, Nayeon was just looking to replace her salad, unbelievably knocked into the air by an incoming football she took no notice of until the bleachers were filled with remnants of said salad, and despite having never really step foot in the cafeteria ever since the Unspeakable-Food-Accident-Of-Nayeon’s-First-Year, it was the only option.

Instead, of course, a clear offering of a muffin, the chocolate-chip goodness that happens to be her favourite.

Or intel. Sana was offering it to embarrass her.

Hidden vomit bean? Stuffed with cheese? All pranks she’s witnessed before.

But.

It was a muffin.

She could really use it.

But.

She is Sana.

Popular, cheerleading, irritating Sana.

Who is offering a _muffin._

Well, who in the hell only wants a muffin? Nayeon might be a little more conservative with her to-be-decided choice of salad, filling and healthy, much more benefits than a small domed spongy cake, and literally less expensive, God help this school’s intake of sugar, and—

Screw it.

“What’s the catch?”

Sana tilts her head. “Why are you so sure there’s a catch?”

“Because there is,” she says matter-of-factly, trying to retain any sense of confidence, because Sana doesn’t have the trademark scowl that means she’s going to ruin her whole day, in fact, she’s looking at the unfathomable opposite.

An amused smirk.

Chilling.

“ _Sure_ ,” Sana drawls. “I’ll buy it, come on.”

“With counterfeit money?” Nayeon follows behind her reluctantly.

Sana scoffs, glancing over her shoulder, somewhat entertained. “You’re acting like I can’t be nice.”

In theory, in _appearance_ , that would be an absolute yes. Sana had the gait and tone of a — for lack of a better word — bitchy mean girl, not quite as thriving-off-of-drama as the ones who use online mishaps as threats, but one for nasty comments, deceit, and purposely excluding people from events.

It all sounds a little elementary, but Nayeon was firm in her belief that she fit it quite perfectly. This was just stage one of acting ‘nice’.

“You don’t have such a reputation,” Nayeon mutters, arms crossed petulantly. Something was extremely off. If she was truly being kind, on what basis? And why _her_.

She’s dragged out of her train of thought when Sana’s hand enters her view, muffin placed in her palm. Nayeon is hungry, yes, but she hasn’t entirely lost her sensibility.

Though, Sana gives her the patented Minatozaki Puppy Eyes, and there’s really no resisting.

Nayeon grimaces. That was some sort of black magic. She would never accept it if she were not under the influence of whatever spell Sana currently had her under.

“Thank… you,” Nayeon forces out.

This felt far too like friendship. It was disturbing. Though, if anything seemed realistic at the moment, it was how good the muffin looked. On the other side of hell, however, Sana looks far too happy and proud of herself, her eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

What — some type of hypnotising face contortion now? Why are Nayeon’s lips twitching?

“Well, see you later then. Enjoy!”

Sana hops out of view, along with Nayeon’s capability of registering what exactly just occurred before her.

She’s pretty?

Nayeon shakes her head.

Pretty much the spawn of Satan.

So why does she look like she’s encountered the Grim Reaper and all his darlings?

Out of shock. Not admiration.

Jeongyeon suddenly taps her shoulder. To be fair, standing like a statue in a room full of students doesn’t look the most natural, so the wait for someone to bring her back to reality was inevitable.

“Are you gonna eat that?” she asks. Jeongyeon is particularly notorious for latching onto food not in someone’s mouth, and if not Jeongyeon, the approaching Momo and co. behind her.

“Have you eaten, Nayeon?” Momo asks too, also eyeing the muffin over Jeongyeon’s shoulder.

Jihyo greet hers silently, while Chaeyoung rocks up to the vending machine almost instantly. Dahyun greets her quickly before following the smaller girl.

Tzuyu slowly appears too, Nayeon does a quick glance over at the origins of her appearance to the table of Sana and Mina in the distance, and she almost curses herself right then and there.

“Why’s everyone over here?” Tzuyu asks the most important question, though it’s mostly met with shrugs. It’s like she gravitates towards the student council, as if she’d hardwired herself to her secretary brain she can’t possibly miss a thing when they’re swarmed all over their money-maker.

Well, it’s not every day you bump into all six of your captors in a school cafeteria.

Nayeon stretches out her arm, wordlessly giving up the muffin to a free-for-all. That should solve most, if not all, her Sana related problems.

(So she thinks.)

Nayeon pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Fuck,” she says quietly.

There was something about camping, tent-mates, and another ridiculous plan. But more importantly, Jihyo is eyeing her down with daggers in her glare. She had declared before the game that she’d win with flying colours, though the one card in Nayeon’s hand and ten in Jihyo’s hand suggest otherwise.

“Fuck,” Nayeon says, even more quietly. Not even huddling underneath the safety of her blazer could hide how ‘sick and tired’ was practically written across her face.

“Don’t do this, Nayeon,” Dahyun pouts at her desperately.

“She might pick up,” Chaeyoung chimes in, though it doesn’t really help the chaos in the vice-president-turned-beggar’s stomach.

Eventually, Nayeon gathers the attention of the six fools in front of her. She appreciates the silence, though it’s somewhat guilt-trippy when all eyes on her are begging wordlessly. This isn’t the first time she’s been randomly forced into a student council game session, even if she wishes she weren’t the least bit affiliated with them.

Nayeon blinks.

If only she wasn’t so awkward to a tee.

Dahyun gulps.

She’s experienced more nerve-wracking things, but this makes it onto the list.

Nayeon places the +4 card on the pile, earning jaw-drops from around the table.

Tzuyu’s cards fall to the table dramatically. “Oh. She won.”

“I hate this game,” Jeongyeon says flatly.

Momo leans back in her chair out of relief. “Are you sure you don’t wanna go?”

At Momo’s non-Uno related topic, the girls were suddenly all ears. All focused on her suddenly, as if they forgot the whole reason for the meeting.

Nayeon wonders if they forget they’re student council sometimes.

She expected them to take the familiar route of going off-topic, but she supposes it’s a welcomed change. Or the hopelessness hanging in the air finally caught on, and they’re back to persuading Nayeon into complying with their shenanigans.

Nayeon reconsiders their second crazy proposal of the year, somehow devised within a month of their last crazy proposal — the confessions booth — and in comparison, this one seemed crazier. She pulls her eyes away from Jihyo, who’s silently deliberating.

(About her death or another spiel about how they need Nayeon, she doesn’t know.)

“She’s tent-ative,” Jeongyeon adds. No one laughs.

Chaeyoung smiles, so Jeongyeon doesn’t feel like a complete failure.

“I never go anyway,” Nayeon shrugs. The yearly camping trip never seemed appealing. “And a mobile confessions booth is just another reason for me to keep it that way.”

“Not even in your senior year?” Tzuyu looks sincere, and Nayeon believes she’s lost the only sane person who would side with her.

Okay, so Tzuyu isn’t really that helpful. (The only person she could really trust has unsurprisingly betrayed her for their ridiculous ideas.) What’s also not helpful is that Jihyo is pressing for an answer with her eyes, and Nayeon tries her best to skip over her face when she takes in their reactions.

“No,” Nayeon’s thought about it. Several times. “I don’t see the point. Can’t one of you guys do it?”

And as if she’s asked them a blasphemous question, they’re all taken aback. It’s an entire five minutes of excuses, and it doesn’t help that Nayeon forgets people actually _do_ something with their extra time, not waste it away on studying. Reminding herself of the hours of digging into books aside, she shouldn’t be all that surprised.

Tzuyu is, obviously, going to hang out with the cheerleaders. Jihyo, considering she’s the girlfriend (Nayeon still can’t get it round her head) to Mina, is going to hang out with them too. Chaeyoung and Dahyun are practically tethered, and with the little she knows, she knows sketchy things in the woods isn’t far off their preferred activities list. Which leaves Jeongyeon and Momo, and Nayeon would like to save her appetite to scheduled lunch and dinner times.

So, it’s all pretty inconvenient.

“Come on, Nayeon,” Jihyo groans, finally, and she almost shudders at the sound of her voice. “Is it money? We’ll pay for your trip. You can’t miss out on camping this year, and plus, with all the stupid teenage stuff that goes on, the booth will be a hit. And maybe…” Jihyo tapers off. Everyone seemed to know what she meant but Nayeon herself.

“What?”

“A little _fun_ ,” Nayeon caught on a little. She heard all the stories of hook-ups, verbal gossip like that spread fast and disregarded high-school social hierarchy. Anything the popular kids did; everyone knew a side of.

“Not everyone lives in your two-star rom-com, Jihyo,” Jeongyeon deadpans.

Jihyo smacks her shoulder. “That was uncalled for.”

“I’m saving Nayeon from disappointment,” she bites back. Jeongyeon shoots her a proud look. “You’re welcome.”

“Can we just get back on track?” Tzuyu tries, fruitlessly, and Chaeyoung once again offers her sympathies.

Momo laughs. “Okay, Nayeon. You decide. We would really like you there, though. We’ve grown fond of you.”

Nayeon smiles for once, though it’s brief when she catches herself doing it.

“You’re like our — baby? Or something,” Dahyun muses. Not the finest way to put it, she _is_ the oldest one in the room, but Nayeon felt the affection.

“Babies aren’t as stubborn,” Jeongyeon grates. It seemed more an attack on Nayeon than it was on Jihyo, who’s almost rendered inept by the sudden blow.

The student president scoffs. “Says you.”

(Being cornered by Sana and her offering to buy her a muffin has never seemed more appealing.)

Nayeon sighs. She might as well. Everything had been pushing out of her comfort zone lately, this just happened to be another one to add onto the list.

So here she is, working her way into agreeing, with an ever-optimistic Chaeyoung to her left smiling. “Do we get to pick our tents?”

Maybe her summer won’t be synonymous with unnecessary hours of studying and payless dog-sitting for her neighbours. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Jihyo nods sagely, but she can’t hide her relief. “Normally, but it’s first come first serve. I think most slots are taken by now, but Dahyun didn’t pick a partner.”

Chaeyoung pouts.

“I like my space,” she says defensively, and looks over at Nayeon quickly, “and not that I don’t want to room with you. I just normally like being alone. I’m not opposed to the idea, though.”

“So, it’s settled?” Tzuyu’s eyes ping-pong from her, to Jihyo, then back at her. “I’ll take it off this month’s expenses. It’s not much, anyway.”

Jeongyeon celebrates first, arm raised into the air, and Chaeyoung follows two celebratory arms waving above her head.

“You can’t take this back, you know that Im?” Jeongyeon points a finger, face all sorts of pleased. She wasn’t sure if it was the success of taking a nerd out on a summer school trip for the first time in her life, or that their student council was on the verge of being saved again — either way, she was pleased too.

Nayeon spent some time imagining how they could mobilise the booth, and Chaeyoung’s casual proposal that they just sit on opposite sides of a large tree actually didn’t seem all that impractical.

So, that’s what they agreed on, as simple as it was.

She should be thankful she’s not going to be cooped up between a curtain, a piece of cardboard and the whirlwind of her own thoughts for three days. Instead, it would be bugs, leaves and a big piece of bark in-between her and the confessor.

The sound of a familiar voice almost makes the miserable slump of ‘what-has-she-gotten-herself-into’ disappear, and it’s embarrassing how quick she is to fix her posture.

“I took it slow.”

Nayeon hums. She had to hide her interest somehow. “How did you?”

“I bought her something, nothing too big, obviously.”

“You taking it slowly is buying her something? Not asking her what her favourite colour is?”

“This is starting to turn into an insult booth,” the girl says through her teeth. “Besides! She’s really hard to talk to. She stares at me so… guarded. Like I’m about to — I don’t know, steal her lunch money.”

Well. That took a turn right into Nayeon’s expectations.

So she _did_ look like a conventional bully, or that’s at least what she can gather. For all she knows, Anonymous Popular Girl could be completely oblivious to the fact that other people don’t see her like her friends would, and not everyone’s going to treat her that way.

But, then again, she didn’t seem so mean in the way she spoke. That’s what threw Nayeon off.

“Honestly, it sounds like a you problem.”

The girl brushes aside her hair from all the semi-angry lunges she was making at the divider. “You’re getting worse at this listening thing every day.”

Nayeon couldn’t disagree. “ _Would_ you steal her lunch money?”

“No!” she says almost instantly. Nayeon can imagine her wide eyes. “I used to do that, okay? I don’t do it anymore, I would _never_. Especially to her. I don’t want her to think of me that way.”

“How do you know she thinks of you that way? I mean, you haven’t exactly talked to her properly.”

“Ugh,” the girl grumbles. “I will, soon. You’ll see.”

“There’s a part of me wanting you to prove me right.”

“That’s the most supportive you’ve been, you know that?”

She could tell that was sincere. In all seriousness, Nayeon hadn’t took this particular confession as something that would carry on for so long, but whenever she sits down in the same seat at the same time, part of her thinks she’s somehow in this journey with her.

“We’re rooming together for the camping trip, which is a huge step.”

Nayeon looks up instantly from examining her nails. “That’s good.”

“But she doesn’t know that, or at least I haven’t exactly told her.”

Oh. “That’s… that’s allowed?” Nayeon drawls, suddenly sitting up from her slouch. It’s a half-question, one that should have a definite, moral answer, though there must be some sort of excuse that she’s silently begging for.

Like clockwork, the girl sputters. “It’s — it’s not what you think! I’m not trying to do anything weird, I’m not like that. I was going to room with one of my friends, but I switched with this girl who likes her.”

“So you wing-woman-ed each other?” Something about that didn’t seem right coming out of Nayeon’s mouth.

“Well, I didn’t know I’d get roomed with _her._ ”

“Her?”

“My crush, obviously. Focus, stupid.”

That was out of the blue. “Right. Do you have anything else to confess?”

She could feel the girl lean on her side of the booth, sighing. “I guess… I’m scared?”

 _Scared._ Nayeon almost chokes. She wasn’t sure how to respond, besides an awkward, “How so?”

“I hate admitting this, but I’m scared I’ll be the one to ruin my chances. Like — me? They like _me,_ not the other way round. It’s just — why couldn’t she like me first? God, what if she doesn’t like me—”

“You don’t know that.”

“And what if _I’m_ the big nerd to her? Trying so hard to get her attention? And you know — wait… I don’t know? Don’t know what?”

Nayeon shrugs.

She certainly wasn’t expecting the whiplash — going from being genuinely sympathetic of this girl’s trying times to immediately cocking an eyebrow at her sudden bout of confidence, (‘they like _me_ ’, specifically) — so she, at the brilliant, got-everything-ahead-of-you age of eighteen, will gather her past experiences of the meeting with the guidance counsellor on the basis she’s lonely, and channel it through.

“Exactly,” Nayeon says, nodding sagely.

Ambiguity, spot on. Effectiveness, zero.

The girl makes an unimpressed sound. “I’m starting to see the injustice with this no refunds policy.”

Nayeon’s eyes fall over the silhouette of the girl through the obscure netting. At least, she won’t have to look through this when she goes camping.

“To be fair, I’ve given advice. That should balance it out for your dissatisfaction.”

“I thought it would be…” the girl pauses, thinking about the past few visits and how they almost always contain Nayeon complaining in some way.

“Helpful? Supportive? Relieving?”

“All of the above. It is written on your flier.”

She isn’t wrong. They’d given Chaeyoung liberty over designing the fliers at the pretence no one would really pay attention to her details other than the massive ‘confessions booth open!’ written colourfully at the top. Except, this girl seemed assiduously meticulous, and it worked in her favour.

In all its entirety, the booth looked professional, but oftentimes Nayeon would barely say a word compared to what she says to this girl. And she’s not surprised it’s not exactly labelled as helpful, either. Half of their problems are love-related, and Nayeon’s not exactly the relationships maven every confessor imagines her to be.

Nayeon looks at her watch tick by, right on the last second.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me who you are?” the girl finally says, tone hopeful. “We’re basically friends now.”

“I keep to my code,” Nayeon replies, though the thought of her blatant advice-giving contradicts her very statement. She hopes her giggle didn’t sound like she was trying too hard to hide it.

“Time’s up.”

“Hey.”

Nayeon could blame her earphones being lodged into her ears, or she could blame how the sight of a few familiar black strands at the corner of her eye tell her the owner of the voice, and that really, looking up wasn’t exactly the easiest option.

She’d got on the bus last, sat at the front just behind the teachers, and now she’s blending in painfully with the _real_ nerds. Not to mention her phone was blowing up having been added to the student council group chat last minute (the name being ‘Jihyo’s Dictatorship & Nayeon’), and if she checked it, said person looming over her would know she hasn’t dozed off and she’s ignoring her on purpose.

Of course, a pothole jolts Nayeon, her face suddenly locked onto the unwanted target.

“Hey, again.”

Nayeon’s face twists into an unconvincing smile. “Hi, Mina.”

She wanted to say something along the lines of ‘what’s all this about?’ though the courage she needed fell short, and there’s not enough time for Nayeon to articulate anything decent when she’s face-to-face with the incarnation of aloof.

She certainly didn’t want to resort to the weak, tiny voice that croaked out a greeting.

Mina doesn’t take the free seat next to Nayeon, instead stays put in all her towering glory. “Sana — what did she say to you?”

Sana?

Oh.

The Muffin Incident of Senior Year.

“Shouldn’t you be asking her?”

“She gets too embarrassed,” Mina balances perfectly against the bumps, to be expected. “Or she completely changes the topic.”

Nayeon narrows her eyes. “And?”

“And… well. I didn’t take you two to be friends, never mind _together_.”

No, no, no, no. This was a misunderstanding. It must be.

“Together?”

Mina nods. “Together.”

“We’re not _together_ ,” Nayeon forces it out from her throat. She cranes her neck back and forth between the safety of the window and Mina’s face, staring at her blankly. “I don’t even talk to Sana.”

“Then why…” Mina trails off. Probably best she didn’t finish her sentence. “Never mind. You can be mine, then. Any friend of Jihyo’s is mine too.”

That smile.

It was somewhat harrowing and _attractive_ — no, Jihyo would kill her for that. Endearing?

Mina slips away back to the back of the bus, the source of the booming music and singing. Nayeon, on the other hand, watches the trees go by wondering why she even thought that.

Mina could… smile? Like that, no less.

There’s a buzz on Nayeon’s lap, notifications taking up her phone screen.

 **jeongyeon:** kick out dahyun

 **jeongyeon:** no mercy

 **momo:** she made the chat

 **jeongyeon:** nice job jihyo…

 **dahyun** : where is jihyo anyway

 **tzuyu:** probably texting mina

 **chaeyoung** : ew

Nayeon should just close her phone, but the dopey smirk she has on her face scrolling through the messages stops her from doing it. She does, unknowingly, make herself known to the group of arguing council members, with a short—

 **nayeon:** hey

 **tzuyu:** nayeon :D

 **jeongyeon:** DO I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU

 **dahyun:** ur all dead to me.

 **chaeyoung:** what did i even do

 **dahyun:** except chaeyoung and tzuyu <3

 **jeongyeon:** if someone doesn’t kick out dahyun i WILL hurt her feelings

 **momo:** don’t do that

 **dahyun:** no please go ahead feel free

 **jeongyeon:** …

 **jeongyeon:** you’ve changed

 **dahyun:** yeah lorde hasn’t put out any new music since 2017

 **dahyun:** anyways

**[jeongyeon Has Been Removed From The Group]**

**jihyo:** did jeongyeon tell nayeon that dahyun switched roommates yet

 **dahyun:** JIHYO.

 **jihyo:** hey dahyun <3

 **tzuyu:** yikes

Nayeon doesn’t sit still for the rest of the ride.

Such is the dramatic, far from mundane life of an eighteen year old.

Nayeon believed her life didn’t steer so close to the idea, yet here she is, tangled in a misunderstanding she can’t get her head around, a group of people she would’ve never talked to willingly, and a camping trip where she should be sat in her bedroom, working.

She hadn’t got approached by the aforementioned people yet, which was great. She had a compensatory nod from Dahyun, which was bad. She’d have to talk to her later, if Nayeon can suppress all urges to skip to the physicality instead.

Tzuyu rolls her suitcase behind her, catching up with Nayeon. She could feel the impending doom come with the thickening air, then the million dollar question:

“So, did you see the final roommates list?”

Nayeon sighs heavily. It’s about the longest sigh Tzuyu’s ever heard. “No. I don’t plan to, and I don’t think I want to.”

Tzuyu, somewhat overwhelmed by the muttered obscenities that followed, coughs to regain her composure, and also tries to gather herself having lugged her suitcase up the rocky hill.

Which meant they were close.

Tzuyu to freedom, Nayeon to pyramid imprisonment, her inmate being—

“Sana… she isn’t that bad,” she tries to reassure, though Nayeon looks at her as if she’d been dragged through the pits of hell, met Lucifer and all his minions, settled a egregious deal where she is ensured suffering, and is now living it out here on a trip she now regrets ever agreeing to.

“I mean, she doesn’t snore?” Tzuyu adds, as if that were going to solve anything. But, in reality, Tzuyu was somehow indulged in both worlds, so she supposes she knows best. Quiet nights is a positive. “You’ll be fine.”

She offers a pat on the back before she disperses into the main crowd, and Nayeon should’ve legged it right then and there, because in the next second, she notices Sana approaching and she’s walking over with that signature, faint strut.

“Hey, Nayeon, you—” Sana frowns when she takes in Nayeon’s state. “Are you okay?”

Nayeon gives a strained thumbs up. “Never been better.”

Now she crosses her arms. Which is something along the lines of, _“I’ve been deceived and the deceiver too many times to know that you’re lying to me right now.”_

“Maybe a little tired,” Nayeon adds, and suddenly her bag feels a whole lot heavier. “Do you know where we’re staying?”

Sana’s hand falters over the distance, before settling on a bright yellow tent nearest the lake. “That one, I think,” she squints, before running off with the intention that Nayeon would hopefully follow, “Mi-tan’s our neighbour!”

Mi-tan.

 _Cute_.

Nayeon-chan.

_Even cuter._

_Stop thinking about that!_

Nayeon does eventually trudge over, greeting Jihyo, who gives a pitiful smile. She didn’t need it, but at least her struggle didn’t go unnoticed. Mina smiles at her quickly before they disappear into the tent. To do God knows what, really.

Sana nudges her arm, and she almost topples over. “I like setting up tents, so this kinda sucks, right?”

She looks genuinely disappointed, to which Nayeon almost labels her psychotic for wanting to put herself through that. She’s far too tired to walk another step before she collapses, nevermind tent building.

Nayeon sends her a look, completely unconvinced. “You like doing that?”

“It’s a nice thing to do with people. I do it with my family every year.”

Of course. Annual camping trip. What else, is she building a new pool in her holiday home in Karuizawa?

“I’ve never been camping,” Nayeon admits. She sets herself on the floor, leaves acting as a cushion. It’s not a bad place, the weather is nice and the area they have is spacious, but sharing a sleeping space with Sana is slowing dawning on her. “I think it’s too tiring, is all.”

Sana sits down too, legs tucked into her chest, hands wrapped around her knees. She looks completely different out of her cheerleading uniform and her normal school attire, and it’s a little shocking.

She dresses dully and simply, which only really shows off how blonde her hair is. Nayeon couldn’t do that, for a starter, but dressing like that makes it seem like they aren’t so different to each other.

“I’m sorry,” Sana says, toying with the leaves beside her. Nayeon tilts her head. _An apology?_ “I know Dahyun wanted to room with you.”

Oh.

Oh no.

“You probably didn’t expect this, and you’re probably bothered even if you didn’t bring it up. But, for some reason, Dahyun _really_ wanted to room with Tzuyu.”

“Maybe she likes her,” Nayeon says half-catatonic, mostly for herself as she recalls the exact conversation and Mina’s weird comment they’re ‘together’, which suddenly makes all the sense in the world.

_“I was going to room with one of my friends, but I switched with this girl who likes her.”_

_“So you wing-woman-ed each other?” Something about that didn’t seem right coming out of Nayeon’s mouth._

_“Well, I didn’t know I’d get roomed with her.”_

But it couldn’t be?

Sana is Anonymous Popular Girl?

It doesn’t help Nayeon looks like she’s been slapped across the face.

Sana stays oblivious. “Duh, stupid. Of course she does, Dahyunnie’s liked Tzuyu for a while.”

The certified asshole that is Nayeon’s brain makes her carry on with the conversation even if internal shutdown was imminent.

_“My crush, obviously. Focus, stupid.”_

God, screw her so-called voice identification powers. How couldn’t she guess Sana was using the booth?

There couldn’t be a timelier entrance of a shudder down her spine.

“You can unpack, I need some air.”

It doesn’t make a whole lot of a sense, Nayeon is surrounded by fresh air and they’re currently sitting _outside_ of their tent, but pretty much anything comes out of her mouth.

Sana replies with a stilted nod, crawling into the tent without another a word.

While everyone’s probably hiding their stashes of alcohol and too busy exploring the cabins the teachers were unfairly graced with, Nayeon makes her way down to the lake.

Of course, Tzuyu is there too. She’s not one for a lot of noise either.

“Wasn’t that bad, right?” she starts, throwing a stone over the water. It bounces three times. “Sana’s sweet.”

She is. Maybe. Nayeon doesn’t want to think about it.

A beat of silence. Nayeon throws it into the air. “What about Dahyun?”

The stone takes a miserable plop into the water, Tzuyu almost tripping over her feet. Looks like they weren’t the only ones suffering at the hands of love, (Nayeon still isn’t past the denial stage, so none of her previous realisation is an acceptable thought inside her head), and well, Tzuyu seems the type to have it under control.

Which is a silly assumption.

“What _—_ _Dahyun? What about_ —” Nayeon can see the physical inner turmoil as Tzuyu racks her brain, trying to spit out something to sound at least a little bit convincing. “Why are you asking?”

“Sana told me,” though it’s really nothing to be proud of. She’s not sure she wants to witness Tzuyu look like she’s met death at its door again. “That Dahyun’s liked you for a while.”

“The hell,” Tzuyu says under her breath, but it’s more out of embarrassment. “Well, yeah. It’s pretty obvious. And it’s complicated.”

“You don’t like her?”

Tzuyu rolls her eyes. “Of course I do!”

Nayeon shivers at the instant reply. She, for one, could never. But she could also sense the worry in her voice, even at something that should have congratulatory feel to it. So, well, Nayeon does what she knows best.

Listens.

Listens as she drags Tzuyu to the other side of a large tree, sitting her down, taking her place on the opposite side. At least Tzuyu doesn’t have to suffer being enclosed in a semi-lit cardboard box, cloth, and netting as a booth for the entirety of lunch.

She can imagine Tzuyu’s frantic hands waving around in disagreement from the way the leaves rustle on the other side. That, or there’s a deer somewhere. Nayeon could believe either one.

“God _no_ , I know the student council endorses this stuff, but this — I can’t do this.”

“Would you rather look at me?” Nayeon supplies, and she’s met with silence and the small noise of the water rushing by. “That’s what I thought.”

There’s a scoff that comes from the other side. “You don’t have to be a smartass about it.”

“It’s my speciality, Tzuyu. Now, go on.”

“I think I’ve known for a while, but Chaeyoung likes me too.”

“Oh.”

Don’t get Nayeon wrong. That’s all she can really manage right now.

Tzuyu sighs. “Yeah, I know, it sucks.”

You see, from the rest of the conversation that follows, Tzuyu isn’t interested in telling anyone, at all, what she feels. Which doesn’t help anyone really, doesn’t help Tzuyu herself, but she seems adamant on not telling. Not that Nayeon didn’t have any advice to give, but every piece of advice she thought that would help would get her back to square one.

In short, maybe the booth isn’t such a bad thing. People do need to get it off their chest sometimes, even if they won’t do anything about it.

And well, anything is welcome if it takes her mind off Sana.

Nayeon spends some more time down by the lake. She skips lunch, which no one really tries to look for her for. She doesn’t really mind. Then, as scheduled, she would finally kick off the mobile confessions booth at the same tree, probably swamped with first-day heartbreaks, crushes, and weird occurrences that could only happen in a forest.

Jihyo did warn her.

Every single one was—

_“She doesn’t wanna get with me. I mean, come on, it’s me!”_

_“I saw him enter her tent. Am I being paranoid?”_

_“I think I’ve befriended a squirrel. It seems cool.”_

A nightmare.

Tzuyu texted her midway during her shift:

**I advertised the booth; hope you don’t mind a lot of customers <3**

And now she’s stuck as if she’s talking to the same person over and over again because _everyone_ seems to have the same problem. Nayeon doesn’t show an ounce of surprise at any of them, since she could just recycle the same piece of reassurance that really is just some thing the guidance counsellor once told her.

Nayeon hears the crinkle of the leaves, and braces herself.

“This is even worse than before.”

Really?

She stops tearing apart what is probably the hundredth leaf, sitting up against the tree. The voice, the concern in said voice, and the way she huffs slightly when she sits down.

It’s Sana, of course it is.

“I don’t think she likes me.”

Nayeon somehow had to drain herself of any emotion and act like she wasn’t Nayeon at all. “What happened?”

Sana hums. “So you’re the same one at school, huh? Didn’t take you for the type to go on these things.”

Sana was right. Very right.

“Anyways, she just ran off. I unpacked her clothes for her, which I hope doesn’t seem so weird. I haven’t seen her all day, just assumed she was avoiding me. Do you think she like… knows?”

_Yes._

“No,” Nayeon says instead. “Maybe she’s just awkward. You said she was sort of a nerd, right?”

It’s pretty telling that it comes out of Nayeon’s mouth, describing herself in such a way, but she remembers she isn’t Nayeon. Or, perhaps, she just doesn’t want to accept the fact _she_ has to be the one to talk to Sana about… herself.

“Sort of. I don’t think she’s a nerd anymore. I mean, yeah, she’s good at studying. I never got the courage to go ask for her notes. But, she just seems, closed off. Which isn’t helpful,” Sana laughs a little, and Nayeon shrinks. “It only makes me want to know her more.”

God. If Nayeon could replace herself with someone else right now, if she could walk off quietly until she realised no one was really there, or if she could just disappear, she would. She’s never experienced something like this, nevermind someone like _her_ doing it. But, as the world wills it, the only way to get through this is to suck it up, because no one’s going to swoop down and save her.

If you don’t like the person anyway, what’s there to get so nervous about?

Right?

It’s fine. Everything is cool. Just amazing.

“Spend some time with her—"

_Nayeon, what?_

“Be a little more confident—"

_What are you saying?_

“Maybe all you need is a little push—”

_She doesn’t need that at all!_

“Because maybe she’s waiting for you.”

_No!_

“I mean, maybe,” Nayeon amends quickly, coughing. “Just — do what you can. It’s not totally over until she says it herself.”

_Are you the one head over heels or is she?!_

There’s a prolonged moment of silence — that’s not the problem.

There’s suppressed giggling — that’s not the problem, though it’s very close to being it.

The problem is that Sana is agreeing, and she still can’t comprehend how her mind doesn’t match her mouth, and now she’s going to endure Sana’s advances that she now has to prepare for and… well. It’s all gone to shit.

“Did you give up on that no advice rule?”

Nayeon laughs anxiously. “I guess so.”

There’s a soft voice that gradually gets louder.

It’s not Sana.

“Nayeon?”

Sana sits up, pushes herself off of the ground, and is probably staring wide-eyed at the visitor. “Mi-tan! How come you’re looking for Nayeon?”

“What were you doing on the floor?” Mina offers instead, and Nayeon bunches up into a ball. She hopes she’s out of view.

“Oh, confessions thing,” and Sana’s voice is suddenly clearer as she faces the tree, “don’t worry! I don’t mind you knowing who I am.”

Nayeon might implode.

Scratch that. She _will_ implode.

“Jihyo told me she didn’t show up for lunch, so I figured she might be on her own somewhere,” _figured._ Nayeon knows well enough Mina knows exactly who’s behind that tree. “I’m sure she’ll come though. Are you coming to dinner?”

“Sure. I’ll help you find Nayeon if she doesn’t show up.”

The way Sana says her name so effortlessly is something she will definitely _never_ get over.

“Hey, tree girl,” Sana calls out, and Nayeon stiffens again. “Are you coming to eat?”

She is hungry.

Like, starving.

All she had was a pack of gummies she left in her pocket.

But, then again, Sana would know her identity, and that wouldn’t do. Know that Nayeon knows something she really shouldn’t, she doesn’t want that on Sana either. It’s too much.

“Later,” Nayeon manages. “I’ll be up soon, though.”

Sana hums, and she can hear them walk off. It takes almost everything in her to let go of the breath she was holding, and finally take a glance back. There it was. That stupidly long blonde hair. The walk. The dull clothing.

And, to top it off, something Nayeon didn’t want to hear.

“Is Nayeon okay?”

The answer?

No. Nope. Not in the slightest.

To recap:

Nayeon has to room with Sana for two nights. (She really thought this through.)

Sana likes Nayeon. (Not good times a thousand.)

Sana is going to try harder than ever before to get Nayeon. (The cherry on top.)

And now, Nayeon is the only one that knows this, that Sana is talking directly to her crush. (She’s collapsed internally a few times just thinking about it.)

Nayeon took in a breath and let it out in a huff. “Do I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lorde please give us what dahyun wants
> 
> [hi](https://twitter.com/vocalistmina)


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, the universe can’t even let her have a _marshmallow_ of all things.

Nayeon snaps her over-toasted chewy confectionery off the flames, blowing off the embers in several huffs.

“They’ll be back with drinks soon,” Mina makes a loud clap, and Nayeon comes out of her mortified daze at seeing a completely blackened marshmallow. “And sort out _you_. You look… you know—widowed,” she adds the last as a mutter.

A sorry being of gloom seemed the best way to describe Nayeon.

She doesn’t want to dwell on the fact she’s not quite beyond the stages of panic at the tree revelation, or that she’s currently fighting internally with herself over feelings.

(Disgusting. Feelings are disgusting.)

Nothing was quite hard to believe in anymore.

Sana has a crush on gloom itself.

She should have seen it coming. The absolute worst thing to happen after Sana’s blind confession is, well, a not-so-blind confession.

And, even worse.

Nayeon sorting out her _own_ feelings.

(Except, Nayeon feels the world shift on its axis in a different way.

What’s left of the cheerleading team is staring into oblivion.)

Briefly, she realizes Sana, against all things known to her and the universe—isn’t talking to her, in fact, hasn’t talked to her the whole time—and her cup is halfway in her mouth, like an idiot. She needs to move, do something, or else she’s going to look like an idiot _and_ stupid.

Tzuyu lifts her fingers underneath her frames, propping it up so it sits over her forehead. The reflection of the fire glows against her lenses.

“They’re out cold,” Tzuyu deadpans, and Nayeon shivers. She’s not sure if it was Sana’s small snicker or the simultaneous chill of wind that passes through.

“Unfortunately,” Mina drawls, one hand feebly warding off a headache, and the other making sure Jihyo doesn’t roll over into the campfire. “How the hell did they not get caught sneaking this stuff in?”

She flicks away the disguised milk carton by her foot. Typical.

Somehow, what’s most surprising is that the student council are supposed to be models for the school, yet here they are, its leader Nayeon is deathly afraid of, cooped up in the arms of her far more competent girlfriend.

In the woods.

In the evening.

On a _school_ trip.

Sana laughs and Nayeon can’t help but prod at the charred wood. “You’re the one that enforced the rule that we shouldn’t drink _at all_ when it’s competition season, Mi-tan.”

Nayeon manages a sneak at Sana while she talks. It wouldn’t be far from the times of waistcoats and tophats, and Nayeon might as well be cleaning her undergarments with a washboard. Nothing about this is taboo, yet it feels everything like it.

“Which is what any good captain would do,” Mina says it like it’s obvious, even if she’s completely unaware of how devoid of fun she sounds.

“Tzuyu would be chugging it down if I weren’t here,” before the younger girl gets to protest, Mina raises a finger in her direction, “and half of the team is probably already wasted. So, you know, doesn’t make what this idiot did any better.”

Mina pokes at Jihyo’s head, earning a grumble.

Sana’s eyes narrow a fraction. “What’s your excuse?”

_Me? You’re talking to me?_

“Uh,” Nayeon croaks out, staring at the dying out fire. “It’s a choice. I just don’t.”

All her useless poking did was completely put out the last flames, the lanterns hung across camp their only source of light.

It does wonders for Sana’s face.

“Im Nayeon,” Tzuyu gasps, a dramatic hand to her chest. “Not once?”

Nayeon’s never been invited to one of these parties everyone talks of during the year, birthdays mostly, and she’s not exactly frothed over the idea of loud music, dancing with strangers and getting offered a drink or two by some boys.

Sana launches an empty cup at Tzuyu’s head. “Stop embarrassing her.”

(It’s a matter of whether to be thankful or absolutely resentful at the way the universe is messing with her.)

“I’m going to head back,” and Nayeon fights back the look of Sana, who’s fighting off her own look of disappointment. Until, that is, “Can we talk?”

And it doesn’t help that Nayeon, while totally opposed to the likes of Sana, doesn’t want to hurt her feelings just to have it regurgitated in mopey sentences.

Exactly. That’s the reason why. That’s the whole reason for this _talk._

Sana’s mouth falls open, but no words come out. She’s not sure what she’s more surprised over—Nayeon initiating something or the strangely vague implications of said talk. What, is she getting her ass handed to her for all her advances, or was she (more optimistically) getting her feelings returned?

She doesn’t want to be optimistic. That’s never worked out for her.

“Sure,” Sana says, before revving up a whole string of _sure_ that Mina almost shuts her up in impatience.

Nayeon raises an eyebrow. She’s not sure how she’s taken it. “Goodnight, you two.”

Mina and Tzuyu both eye her with anticipation, and it’s not the greatest being absolutely oblivious to every love cue that Nayeon takes it as a friendly encouragement, that yes, they’ll get along and Tzuyu doesn’t have to convince her Sana is a good tent-mate.

(Of course, still working on that one.)

“Are we going on a little adventure?” Sana asks cheekily, Nayeon guiding the way with a flashlight that won’t cooperate.

Nayeon takes one dry glance at Sana, whose smile quickly disappears with a cough. _It was pitch dark,_ is what Nayeon would’ve said to Mina who most definitely would have annoyed her about this the next day, and she’d repeat herself, slowly. _Yes, it was pitch dark._ They were together. But it meant nothing in the end if Nayeon wanted it over quickly.

At the sight of the garish yellow tent, Nayeon almost rushes herself, but masks her eagerness to be suitably away from Sana’s vicinity with a jog.

No ‘accidents’ were happening. No rolling over and occupying each other’s spaces. Nothing Nayeon would regret years later.

Sana’s head peaks through the entrance, and she quirks an eyebrow. Nayeon is half-tucked under her covers already. “Are you that sleepy?”

“Yes?”

“Then, why’d you want to talk?”

Nayeon stops wiggling her feet from underneath the sleeping bag, stops distracting herself altogether. Somewhere in the distance there’s a drunken cheer, then the call of an owl, and she shrugs. “Company?”

“Company?” the sheer happiness on Sana’s face scares Nayeon off from making any other statement, and besides, she’s probably six feet under by now, and it’s a one-way road to eternal suffering from here on out. “I’ll keep you company.”

Nayeon reaches for the lamp between them, Sana's eyes blinking closer to being completely shut at every passing second.

“Goodnight, Nayeon,” the voice comes drowsy, still sweet.

If not mopey sentences, it would be excited chatter Nayeon can barely register.

It’s a nice day today, they have little nature-related activities scheduled in the form of basic arts and crafts, and Nayeon slipped away during their free time to run the booth. She’s not surprised Sana ends up being the first customer, not after the atrocity she caused last night.

Sana breaks her chain of trivial complaints (something along the lines of her picky food preferences) with a click of her fingers. “Ah—can you help me?”

“If I say no, I’ll still have to.”

“Alright,” Sana braces herself. One deep breath in, then, “Would you date me?”

Nayeon pauses.

“I would not.”

Sana audibly shrinks. “Was it the voice? Should I go a little softer?”

“Still no favourite colour, and you want to ask her out?”

“That’s not important,” Sana waves her hand dismissively. “I need to be prepared for this kind of stuff; you know? I’ve said it so many times but this time I need to _mean_ it.”

“So, you’re not asking her out?”

“I’m preparing,” Sana flutters her fingers at the green in front of her. “Preparation is good for anything. You can’t just go out onto a field and expect a whole team to follow a routine they don’t know. I’ve been reckless before, because I didn’t care.”

Nayeon lets out an undignified giggle.

“Why are you laughing? Actually, don’t answer—”

“It’s only because I never expected that coming from you.”

“And you’re not insulting me, which is new. Did you wake up on the right side of the tent today?”

Nayeon kicks herself at the heat on her cheeks. “You were saying, about dating,” she says, begrudging. 

“It’s going good.”

“Is that so?” Nayeon muses. Sana’s cheeriness is off the scales—not the overwhelming kind, but the plentiful kind—that she doesn’t know how to respond to her enthusiasm. After all, Nayeon can’t exactly match it.

“I mean, have you ever seen a nerd smile at someone like me, you know, without the joking around? Just genuinely.” It’s like they’re sharing the bliss, especially with Sana’s dreamy huffs.

Nayeon caves. Or completely loses her patience. “You must like her a lot.”

“Like that’s even up for debate,” Sana’s completely oblivious to the state of panic she’s just plunged Nayeon into. “People like me first, it’s always been that way. So, it’s kind of exciting.”

And just as the afternoon sun pours orange through the leafy cover, Sana adds, “I think we’d be friends, me and you.”

Nayeon sucks her teeth. “Chances look slim.”

There hadn’t been many instances where making friends was at the top of Nayeon’s priorities, and she’s always been comfortable alone. No matter how boring it got, now matter how empty her days could get.

From there, Sana hums. It’s scheming. Nayeon doesn’t like scheming. “We’ll see about that.”

“Me! I’ll be Nayeon’s partner.”

Of all the times she’d been picked last in gym, this was a pleasant surprise.

Of course, it was just for some random arts and crafts activity that was (yet again) probably placed in to fill in their timetable, but it was relaxing. A teacher lazily supervised while sunbathing, and it was probably Nayeon’s favourite part of the day.

(That is, if Mina _meant_ to pick her before Sana even had a chance to.)

“So, what’s the deal?” Nayeon says, minutes into the knitting silence once she realises there’s no saving the tangled mess between her needles. Mina, as always, has the hang of it.

“You’re quick.”

“If Jihyo’s gonna grab me any second,” Nayeon takes a cautionary look around. “Then I have to be quick.”

Mina rolls her eyes. “We’re friends. I’m happily taken. You’re really pretty, Nayeon, but don’t get it twisted.”

Nayeon’s lips twitch, just once. So this is what it feels like to be ripped apart at the seams with such a simple _word._

“It’s because we couldn’t talk earlier,” Mina continues on when she takes a brief look at Nayeon on the opposite side of the bench, and Nayeon’s eyes fall back down to glare at her pathetic attempt. “And it’s important. I think. At least, if what I’m thinking is true.”

There’s a short pause.

“What are you thinking of?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Unless she’s madly in love with another girl, then no,” Mina’s eyes look over her shoulder, where Sana's playing a rather pitiful game of badminton with Dahyun.

(Her form. It’s shocking.)

Nayeon winces, smiling anyway.

“Best-friend instincts,” Mina shrugs. “It’s kinda obvious. I hang out with Sana every day, all day, and you think I won’t notice when she’s in love?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Nayeon can’t tell if Mina’s sped up her knitting pace or if her eyes are playing tricks on her. “Can you believe she didn’t tell me? But, that’s beside the point. I’m here to help you.”

“But,” and Mina almost rolls her eyes at this, “I don’t _like_ Sana.”

Like a wannabe genius, the cheerleader raises a finger. She leans forward, eyes holding some sort of anticipating gleam. “But you don’t hate her.”

Talking about love is frankly a curse. Not only does Nayeon not know her own feelings, but now she has to put up all her inexperience on display.

“ _But_ ,” and it earns another groan from Mina, “how do you know if I’m perfect? You don’t know me, you don’t talk to me a lot, I was a nobody in first year. We’re _strangers,_ ” Nayeon doesn’t take notice of Mina’s harrowed face, so she charges on, “do you get it?”

There’s a beat of silence. Mina needs a moment to process Nayeon’s ridiculous, but fair, analogy.

“Am I supposed to feel good about hearing all of that?”

Not sophisticatedly worded on Nayeon’s part. Though, Mina had her abruptness and Nayeon had her naivety. She looks at her for a good few seconds before neither nodding or shaking her head, instead faintly tilting it to the side.

“I’ll let it slide,” Mina says, and she makes another skilful loop with her thread. “Sana and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, longer than high school.”

That’s pretty obvious. Everyone knows how close the captain and the ace of their cheerleading team are, and every prize and competition winnings they’ve brought back home for the school together. There’s not anyone that doesn’t know them, or of them. Famous _,_ in some way.

“How is that news?”

“And in freshman year, we dated.”

Out of everything Nayeon could be expecting, she certainly wasn’t expecting anything like that. Mina continues weaving her hands together in some motion Nayeon is sure she’ll never get the hang of.

Horrifying.

“You _what?”_ Nayeon finally manages after forcing out a coughing fit and spluttering over half-words, not in any particular order.

“Don’t get jealous,” Mina says with a teasing grin. “We’re way better off as friends.”

It didn’t help that they were stuck underneath the sun, swamped with humidity and fearless bugs that could barely keep Nayeon on track.

“So, as I’m the only person capable of telling you exactly how to get Sana without shit-talking her, crying about her, or both—then I’m offering you my help.”

Nayeon sighs. She has to think about this realistically.

“I don’t think this is right. I’m—” It sucks, actually, that Nayeon has to talk about her empty love life like an embarrassing secret she doesn’t want anyone else to find out, though it's painfully apparent to everyone anyway. “I’m not—you know.”

Mina shrugs. “You can say you’ve never dated anyone before.”

Nayeon feels unusually defensive, and she leans into the table in some sort of desperate panic. “That’s not what I mean—and keep your voice down!”

“You’re being serious?” And if even Mina, probably the most understanding and articulate of the bunch, is confused, then hell, Nayeon deserves all the labels she gets.

It’s a slow nod of acceptance.

“Yes, I am,” Nayeon says through a mumble, head planted in her arms on the table. The sun’s beating her neck to an otherworldly temperature and she’s sure you could fry an egg there at the pure heat, but she grumbles into her elbow instead of facing Mina in the eye. “Don’t say anything about it. It’s already embarrassing enough.”

“Okay,” Mina finally places down her needles. Not even the calm, relaxing practice of weaving threads together could prepare her for Nayeon’s extreme amount of well… inherent nerd. “You know what? College was always your saving grace.”

Nayeon looks up and makes a face. Again, these girls have no way of putting love into words gracefully.

Like a lightbulb appearing next to Mina, she shoves her phone screen in her scrunched face. “Here, tell me how you feel.”

_What the hell?_

Nayeon’s head bows down like any other day she has it dug into a book, but this time her arms are up forming a makeshift wall against the phone. “Christ—am I supposed to be seeing that?”

There’s a brief pause that feels like ages. Mina turns the phone back to her own face, rolling her eyes. “That’s just the lighting, Nayeon.”

“Oh.”

Of course it is. Like the embarrassment isn’t at a high already.

“Still.”

“Why would I even have a picture like that?”

“I don’t know? You’re best friends—best friends share that stuff sometimes!”

“Just do what I said,” Mina says fondly, eyes guiding her to the phone.

Sana’s wearing a dress _, to be clear_ , a skin-tone dress in some disastrous lighting. Her hair is dark, so if her memory serves her right, this must’ve been around last year.

She’s smiling wide, proud of herself, holding a glass statue.

Nayeon remembers.

It was the time they first properly spoke. She’d been invited to handle decoration for a little celebration party, since the cheerleading team won some inner-city competition, and it was another boasting point for the school, so the budget was up there. Sana said a quick hello to her backstage before receiving some prize, but that’s what she did to everyone.

She wasn’t anything special.

Except, Nayeon gulps, because she never really thinks before speaking anymore.

“It’s… nice.”

Mina pulls her phone away like a prized artefact and examines it, just to make sure. “Really?”

“Why? You don’t think so?”

“Nayeon,” Mina says slowly, as if she’d get what she’s hinting at. It does nothing of the sort, but she enjoys the puzzled look on Nayeon’s face. “You’re bolder than I thought, you know.”

“Bolder?”

“Come on,” the phone is shoved back in her face promptly and Nayeon almost topples over from dodging a face full of screen. “What’s so _nice?_ ”

Nayeon stares owlishly at Mina. Who has the most idiotic grin plastered all over.

“How is nice in any way similar to me flirting?”

“Potato, tomato,” Mina drawls, rushing her way over to Nayeon’s side of the bench with an inflated smile, and she bunches up close enough to Nayeon to wrap an arm around her. “Do you know what this means?”

She would shuffle away, but her feet are frozen in place. “No. What’s the big deal?”

“It means, you like her.” The cheerleader motions an arc with her free hand, looking up ambitiously.

Nayeon’s mouth opens, but everything witty is pushed aside in a second. “Hang on. Are you being friendly because you want me to get with Sana?”

Mina doesn’t have to feign much, except for how much she's actually quite offended. She purses her lips, scooting away in the same motion.

“Well,” half-muffled, but Nayeon can make it out, “if you want our relationship to be like that.”

At that, Nayeon sighs. 

And like a strange summoning spell that always seems to happen once _her_ name is said out loud, there’s suddenly a set of hands on Mina’s shoulders and a chin nestling into her head. Dahyun resorts to a pat on the back for Nayeon.

“Mi-tan, Nayeon-chan. What are you two doing? Knitting?”

_Nayeon-chan?_

“I’d say an attempt at it,” Dahyun quips, holding Nayeon’s tangled piece of wool by a loose thread. “She was on the verge of passing out and I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“So,” Sana eyes Dahyun briefly, full of playful anger, “we’re getting drinks instead.”

“Get me my favourite,” Mina manages, amidst trying to battle Sana off consuming her head with her arms. “Nayeon?”

It’s rude not to look at someone when they’re talking to you. But did Sana have to be in the same frame as Mina? Absolutely not. The world just hates her.

“Nothing, I’m good,” Nayeon forces out a somewhat convincing smile. “Don’t spend your money on me.”

“Actually, Dahyun, sit!” Sana suddenly announces, eyes meeting for a hapless second, and the look of utter disbelief on Nayeon’s face is near palpable.

Sana is impossible. If she weren’t, Nayeon would know what to do by now.

And unfortunately, the real world isn’t the same as an equation or formula that, by Nayeon’s rational judgement, can be and should be used easily so everything makes sense. But Sana is far more complicated than numbers and letters put together.

Considering that:

  1. Minatozaki Sana was popular, no doubt. But strangely, she was nice, as was Mina, and that muddled up Nayeon’s three-year picture of a conceited, colourful pom-pom-wielding blonde whose past-time was everything she despised and more.
  2. Nayeon has never, as she hurts to reiterate, fallen in love. Nevermind with someone like _her_. Nayeon’s learned to steer clear of those cliques, and probably spent the whole of first year uselessly wafting away imaginary spots from walking in on things she shouldn’t be seeing and forcing her eyes shut until she was safe.



Nayeon could cry right now, out of frustration mostly, but that would be embarrassing. Frankly, it’s just her luck she gets dragged over with little protest instead of Dahyun, who’s sitting down, content and sun-covered.

(That should be Nayeon.)

(That should be Nayeon relaxing.)

(She remembers to save the waterworks for one of those after-school showers when she gets back home.)

“You’re not paying for everything,” Nayeon says, more like a statement than a question. Sana’s bills pinched between her fingers stop halfway between the vending machine, and she retracts it quickly.

“I’m not?”

That tone. Chilling. Nayeon wishes she never spoke.

Nayeon makes the most tentative nods, thrice. As if the first one didn’t get across she was trying to make a chivalrous attempt at breaking into Sana’s ‘circle’, which ultimately failed at one attempt, the other two being damage control.

Nayeon points vaguely at the item in C3, and Sana snickers.

“You seem more like a strawberry person.”

Nayeon’s nibbling on her cone, and Sana’s feasting on a popsicle. The bag of drinks has the unprecedented addition of a box of ice-cream, and Nayeon didn’t exactly expect this scenario in her head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like a sweet person,” Sana says through a mouthful, “but you know, chocolate is good too, I guess. For boring people.”

Nayeon narrows her eyes. “You’re the one eating a popsicle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sana asks, but it’s met with a shrug.

She takes a bite indignantly, sacrificing the sensitivity of her teeth. “It’s not my fault your smarts, or whatever, block out your sense of taste!”

“Wow, rude. And saying it to rank one in the entire school, too.”

“What?” It’s obvious Sana is grinning. “I thought you were supposed to be humble.”

Another bite of ice-cream. Sweeter, this time. “I’m humbling you.”

She blew air past her lips. Sana rushes over, childishly, bumping her arm into the back of Nayeon’s shoulder. Just a little. Except, Nayeon feels as if she's been rugby tackled.

“That’s an insult,” then, softer, “but I suppose you should.”

That's weird. Almost serious, somehow. Nayeon would say something, but Sana swerves back into her place next to her when she finds somewhere to toss her popsicle stick away, and she mellows her way back into a smile.

“You know,” Sana begins. She stretches her arms behind her head, squinting at the sun. “Do you ever not study? What do you do in your free time?”

“Is all you think I do study?”

Nayeon follows her eyes down to her feet. Worn out sneakers. They’ve seen better days. Come to think of it, with the time Nayeon’s spent hiding her face and accommodating herself with having stare-fests with the floor, those are the shoes she’s always worn.

Her eyes inch back to Nayeon. “Do you always have to answer with a question?”

“No, but it’s fun.”

Nayeon swears Sana is bordering on something like a pout. “Even if someone wanted to get to know you?”

“What kind of…” Nayeon pauses for another self-propitiatory moment, Sana’s eyes cracking open at the sudden halt. “Are you asking me seriously?”

She grumbles. “Another question.”

For a moment, Nayeon wonders what Sana sees when she looks at her back. “You could’ve just answered.”

“I could’ve said the same for you!” Sana stops her stretching in place of some exaggeratedly stroppy arms. This is no trick of the sunlight, or Sana under a duvet in the middle of the night dreaming, when she sees Nayeon laugh. “Is my misery funny to you?”

It’s nearing the end of the trail when Nayeon’s hands sweat from the sun and the plastic bag in her hand feels a little loose. Nayeon considers it for a moment, turns around and takes in the sight.

“Yes, actually.”

The dirt path continues until the large patch of grass means they’re back somewhere near camp. Nayeon feels a little disappointed the way back is a little short, she wouldn’t mind going on for a little further.

Sana too, she thinks. Or, well assumes. She doesn’t want to feed into the idea. She nudges her at every little sight or to tell her, quite surprisingly, the names of the different plants they pass by or the squirrel lounging around a tree trunk. Of course, Sana is always welcome to get her attention by means other than an abrupt elbow.

“Daisies!” Sana brightens. It almost makes Nayeon as excited. “We’re nearly there. Do you have any last questions?” She holds out her balled fist, walking backwards, completely disregarding every bump or hole she might trip over.

Nayeon looks down at the ground for her, but rolls her eyes. How annoying. 

Like the million other forks of Nayeon’s never-ending road of life, she supposes there really is now or never. This is what Sana wants—right?

“Why are you talking to me?”

(The one downside to this whole ordeal is that she’ll have to stay for the answer. Unfortunately.)

Sana shrugs, Nayeon can see it from the corner of her eye.

“We haven’t talked before,” she replies, running out things to stare at before it looks too obvious she’s ignoring her gaze. Which is quite apparent to Nayeon, but she’d rather not bring that up.

Like a switch, Sana clears her throat. Nayeon sees something in her, something that goes deeper than the cheery smile and teasing glint in her eyes.

“Besides, am I not allowed to talk to you?”

“Is that it?”

Sana gives her the look— _that_ look—the one where she’s about to say something extremely important, or something alike, the look she remembers on stage. But that was entirely unrealistic. She can’t possibly be confident. Not in a situation like this, not when Nayeon is half-expecting a normal answer, or an answer that’ll make it all make sense.

Sana isn’t that brave.

“Why not? Do I need a reason?”

Sana scoops a piece of Nayeon’s practically untouched ice-cream with her completely bare finger. So much for getting answers. Nayeon notes, rather uselessly, that Sana’s notion of sanitation is entirely out the window.

“You’re the last person I’d expect to talk to me,” Nayeon says finally, walking ahead with enough speed that Sana doesn’t match it.

Mina says nothing.

She leans against the tree, gaze flickering up the entirety of Nayeon’s figure rolling up a sleeping mat. The other side of the tent is neatly folded, and surprisingly, empty. A long-stemmed flower grows at the base, and Mina picks it between her fingers easy enough all the dried hairs come along with it.

“You don’t have to be so obvious,” Mina pipes up eventually, head peeking past the unzipped entrance. Her eyes sweep across the inside. So unbearably organised. The flower falls to her side with a simple toss. “I know you’re wondering where she is.”

Nayeon fiddles at her shirt, sighing. “Where is she?”

“Before that,” Mina withholds, her natural curiosity (or, rather, a mask for her hunger for gossip), is to blame, and she leans in enough to keep her voice hushed, but enough for Nayeon to hear. “Why’d you two come back yesterday looking like you just got divorced? Did you say anything?”

Nothing comes to mind.

“What about the booth?”

Sana didn’t come yesterday. But she figured people would rather spend their last night camping having fun, not spewing every insecurity at 7pm in the evening.

But then again, Sana comes to every single one.

Nayeon gives the cheerleader a slightly blank look. “It’s nothing. At least she isn’t glued to me.”

“But,” Mina’s foot crushes the petals into the blades of grass, scattered and pink. “You want her to be, right?”

There’s a lot of things between Nayeon and Minatozaki Sana.

There’s the apparent density in the both of them. Something that even annoys the level-headed Mina.

There’s the undeniable school hierarchy that keeps Sana swamped as a highly reputable person, and Nayeon too, if anyone had bothered to bat an eye her way for things other than needing her force-fed booth expertise.

There’s the 8 hours of school, the 2 metres between their desks, and the one thought that stays in Nayeon’s head the most, other than all the things she’s absorbed in lessons.

_Do I like Sana?_

As much as it remains a battle in Nayeon’s head to immediately respond to herself with a ‘no’, she’s been expecting things that haven’t been happening, finding herself waiting for someone that isn’t there.

Nayeon stares long and hard at a small sign hung up above the cafeteria’s door. _New white chocolate chip muffins!_ it reads, in all its tempting glory. But before Nayeon gets to make a decision, her phone dings, and she’ll have to save treating herself to a dessert for later.

 **mina** : ok you definitely said something to sana on the trip

 **mina** : she’s searching up how to know if someone is mad at you

 **mina** : nayeon.

 **mina** : what did you say

The thread of alarmed messages continues, and Nayeon shuts her phone before the memory completely escapes her, and before she witnesses Mina virtually burst through the screen. If Nayeon knew, if that luxury had come to her, she would have replied already and saved Mina the trouble of furiously typing out her name.

It was just ridiculous.

Nayeon didn’t have to think about Sana.

Not really. Not at all. She was just a person that barged into her life unannounced with a love confession.

But she happened to occupy Nayeon’s mind more often than she’d ever like to admit out loud.

If Nayeon could do anything, she’d do what she did best.

Avoid everyone, like she had done for the whole of her high-school life.

Except, Sana is standing a few metres away from her, neck craned up at the sign with a crease of concentration in her brow and purse dangling in her hands. There’s the murmur of her name as everyone passes by her, and she responds with a leisurely nod or a greeting back, the odd compliment in passing and confirmation of plans that are done within a second.

 _That’s Sana,_ Nayeon thinks, _she’s nothing like me._

“Hey!” Sana says into the silence. Nayeon feels the entire weight of it in her gut. “Are you gonna go in?”

Nayeon tucks away the money in her hands back into her pocket, deflating. “No, I was just thinking about it.”

“Come on!” Sana’s eyes wander once more towards the sign.

There’s a small shrug. “Really, I’m not that hungry,” then a pause, one that makes room for Nayeon’s grimace. “If you’re going in, you should get one of the new muffins.”

“Don’t you like muffins? I can get you one too.”

Of course Sana remembers. Why wouldn’t she? Nayeon was eyeing them a week ago like they were love incarnate.

Nayeon’s lips edge towards a faint smile. “I’m fine—tell me how they taste?”

Before Sana gets to probe further, Nayeon turns on her heel, trying to walk as fast as she could down the hallway, wherever the opposite of the cafeteria was.

But the hallway is a school hallway, the inevitable swarm of students stuffed into tiny spaces and Nayeon’s worst nightmare. It’s packed, unfairly so, and she makes it three lockers down before Sana’s hand is on her shoulder, the white sleeve of her varsity jacket pulled over her knuckles.

“Can I ask you something?” Nayeon seemed more confused by the hand than the question itself. “Quickly, and you can go on your way.”

It didn’t hurt for her to say it. Nayeon proposed a few more minutes before she _really_ started malfunctioning. “What is it?”

“There’s this test this soon,” Sana starts.

Nayeon nods, eyes still on the hand. Who does their nails so prettily for school?

“And Mina’s busy with cheerleading since Tzuyu’s busy with the student council.”

Sana looks at Nayeon just as she tilts her head, eyes squinting in an attempt to make sense of it all, and her shoulders fall.

“And—you know, I’m not exactly a model student!”

At that, Nayeon grins. “I think I know that.”

“Seriously? I’m trying to go on a d—” Sana snaps, and shoos away a few faces turning to her direction. She isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or crumble, and offers a compensatory smile anyway. “I mean, you should tutor me.” 

Even Nayeon knows it was worth a try.

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“How—”

Nayeon clutches her books a little tighter. “I’m not deaf, Minatozaki.”

“Of course you aren’t!” Sana starts, realises her hand is still on Nayeon’s shoulder, and jerks it back, “I was going to say—” she continues, “date! Yeah, date—” Sana says, and swallows down on every possible noise her throat wants to make, “—with someone I don’t really want to go with. And I’d rather study,” she glances, briefly, at Nayeon, “with you.”

There’s something likeable about Sana, but she can’t pinpoint what. Maybe it's the way she’s making a complete fool of herself asking to be tutored, or that what she was seeing now would’ve never crossed her mind once.

And it’s happening to her, not anyone else.

(Her nerd status of which, currently, is totally irrelevant.)

An alarm bell goes off in Nayeon’s head. Sana hums low.

“Wait, with me?”

“Of course, stupid. You’re the smartest!”

Nayeon titters, easily taken for a choke. She can _see_ Sana’s smile, despite looking anywhere but there.

“That doesn’t make sense, you know.”

The cheerleader pinks into laughter. Again, into one of those tolerable laughing fits. Maybe it was because she had already gotten used to it, but the sound of it didn’t sound so irritable anymore.

“I know it doesn’t,” Sana’s hand reaches the nape of her neck, grinning, and Nayeon almost finds herself relaxing. Though that’s a luxury only for a second. “So, that’s a yes, right?”

Nayeon could feel the heat growing in her cheeks. By now they were beyond an attractive rosiness, and the impulse to quickly decline and sprint out of there with some miraculous speed granted to her that moment was at a large.

“Most girls—” Sana begins, but Nayeon doesn’t let her get to it.

_Most girls?_

“I will,” Nayeon is saying, halfway into her walk, shoulders brushing at the last second, “I’ll do it.”

“When you’re cheerleading, have you ever felt that way, but like, for a person, not a pom-pom?”

Tzuyu stills, and she places the basketball between her wrist and hip. Nayeon didn’t feel like going home so early, and they just happened to be at the court. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

The other cheerleader’s hair whips round her shoulders, brown draped over her uniform. In return, Mina gives an empty shrug. “Why are you asking that like it’s a question? I’m Jihyo’s _girlfriend_ , Nayeon,” she stretches her legs once more before facing her. “And don’t you already know about Tzuyu?”

“She does, out of force,” Tzuyu makes sure to add in. The gym is relatively empty, but her threat fills the room. “Is this about Sana?”

Nayeon falls back into the pile of pom-poms, and all she does is raise a finger in reply. “In my defense, I never mentioned anyone.”

“And yet, we all know who it is,” Mina says through a breath, touches her toes perfectly before standing. “You’re crushing our pride and joy, by the way.”

Tzuyu nudges her with the toe of her shoe and she rolls over, still sprawled across the floor. It’s a pathetic sight, mostly for Nayeon, who’s currently staring at every particle on the floor pre-sweep, wincing at her reflection from the steel stands.

“You don’t have to mope,” Mina says, shaking Nayeon by her shoulder.

She doesn’t budge.

“I’m not moping. I’m rationalising.”

“By laying on the floor?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not how you rationalise,” Tzuyu offers her a tired smile, and wiggles the left-over basketball jerseys over her face, enough to make her sit up indignantly.

She should, technically, be helping them clean up post-practice. And well, maybe Tzuyu is justified in making Nayeon’s life a living hell for her own pleasure; she does need more than a nudge once in a while.

“You’ll figure it out, Nay,” Mina says, head framed in a yellow from the ceiling light as Nayeon looks up. Either this is some divine intervention, or she’s seriously hallucinating. She takes Mina’s hands, dusts everything off her skirt before struggling herself up. “It’ll take time. And you definitely don’t need to rush a thing.”

Tzuyu throws a towel over in Mina’s direction, which she catches breezily, an eyebrow quirked curiously. “Maybe you’ll even figure it out tomorrow.”

Halfway into the week, amongst assignments and the cheerleading squad gearing up for competitions, Nayeon remembers she said yes. To tutoring Sana. At her own house.

And it’s okay, because she's a brilliant, decorated, fantastic tutor, all self-proclaimed, but clear in practice—quite possibly the best. She doesn’t crumble under the pressure of getting a completely hopeless case in studying.

Sana reminds her at the end of the day, hand on her back, sweat rolling down with a grin bouncing off all her features, but she doesn’t quite care. Not if she’s sticky or far from pleasant-looking.

Nayeon doubts herself, just for a second.

The next few days of school are, naturally, torture.

Pop quizzes, Nayeon getting called a nerd for the third time that week (just a few more and it’ll break the record), the outraging lack of salad boxes in the cafeteria, bleachers having ‘wet paint’ signs all over them, and Tzuyu, who is currently speeding down the hallway with more purpose in her stride than ever. 

“You. Stu-co meeting, now. Come on.”

Nayeon tugs at her backpack’s straps. Tilts her head to the side and makes that universal noise of discomfort. She really, _really_ does not want to go.

But Tzuyu doesn’t quite care for cues, and she has her by the door before she can protest. Nayeon realises she’s had her eyes shut the entire time when she swats away the spots in her vision.

(Tzuyu isn’t actually intimidating. That’s a one time thing.)

She’s seated at an awkward place at the corner, unfitting between the spaces already allocated for actual members. It’s a whole five minutes before Jihyo regards her presence and they _finally_ turn away from the topic of weekend plans.

“Okay, Nayeon,” Jihyo says, and everyone looks at her at the mention. Wonderful. “I know you’re not a member, but you basically are at this point. Honorary, if you will.”

“Because you look like you’d rather become a cheerleader than join us officially,” Jeongyeon adds.

(She’s not wrong.)

“I just wanted to check up on everyone. How’s the booth going?”

This is strange.

Chaeyoung is not normally this attentive.

Nor does Dahyun bother taking her unusually small notepad and pen out.

She shrugs. It’s the same old. It makes her want to cry internally, other times she thinks it’s the best thing in the world. “It’s going fine. Why?”

Jihyo nods not once, but three times. Something shifts in the room. It was obvious. Everyone was being painfully obvious.

“Why are you all being so weird?”

They all avoid eye contact.

This is not good.

Is this what adults go through when they get fired? Because Nayeon’s not sure she likes it. She’s perfect for the job, which she previously hated to admit, but being selective in your strengths gets you places here.

Momo scoffs, or attempts something like it. “Why are _you_ being weird?”

“What?”

Tzuyu whispers something to Chaeyoung. “We’re being normal. Y’know, normal people,” she leans in for another whisper, and Chaeyoung speaks again, “doing normal people things.” (Honestly, the whole exchange makes her look ridiculous.) “How was that?”

Tzuyu gives her a thumbs up.

“Okay, this is—”

“Mina told me,” Jihyo relents. Of course, there’s someone in this room that shares the same capacity for embarrassment as Nayeon. “Well, she slipped up. I overheard her call to Sana, then she just told me.”

“You sure it wasn’t just the pressure?” Jeongyeon snickers. “You do have a talent for it.”

 _This_ is normal.

“ _Anyways_ , as I was saying, we’re obviously here to help.”

Slowly the realisation of what she was saying hit Nayeon, along with a corresponding image. Of Sana. Clear as day.

“No, no, _no,_ ” Nayeon’s thud onto the table made everyone jump. Not her best choice. But it was her easiest. “Now I have to deal with all of you?”

“Isn’t that great?” Momo offers.

It wasn’t, no.

“My reputation in the love department exceeds expectations,” Jeongyeon says. “So, of course, you’re in great hands.”

Surely, that lie was hanging around the room, gold-framed and centred.

Tzuyu smiles. “Not to mention, we’re perfect for the job. Jihyo’s got a girlfriend, and—” she scans the table. Actually, there wasn’t much relationship success as there was academic success amongst them. Not everyone can be Park Jihyo. “Well, we know our things.”

Nayeon went quiet for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. It’s one, very terrible, and two, the worst news she’s had in all her years of living. She’s grown fond of the dramatics. Sometimes they’re very needed, such as in times like these.

“Okay,” she mulls over her words briefly. “This is fine. Because I don’t like Sana, and I don’t need your help.”

Nayeon’s hands are laid out like it’s believable, saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

A pitch like that wouldn’t convince anyone.

Nayeon’s been staring at her laptop screen for an hour.

Or two.

Or three.

Now she can’t lie, maybe a part of her was expecting Sana to actually show up on time, and maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised she hasn’t showed up at all. Nayeon’s always hated being lied to, but there’s no point in denying Sana, maybe genuinely, has a reason.

The empty textbook on her left sits still. On the first page, no ink, no writing. She had bought it last week since the cover was an awful pink, and well, it’s not hard to associate that with the cheerleader outfits that one summer. It looks at her, blank and all, and it cuts through Nayeon like a knife.

“God, stupid pink notebooks,” Nayeon mutters, and she closes it shut, leaning back in her chair. “Pink is stupid, anyway.”

Something unfurls in her chest everytime a second passes. It subsides every so often, _‘Sana isn’t so different’, ‘she hasn’t changed’,_ offering a moment of peace in Nayeon’s mind. Then, Nayeon thinks about how she’s set up a whole table of study books, a plate of cookies now hardened, and blanches a little.

It’s fairly horrifying. 

Nayeon shudders.

“I’m not,” she doesn’t finish. It makes her lips twitch.

“I’m not…” her eyes dart around the room. Okay, it’s not like that pink notebook is giving her answer anytime soon. It’s not going to press an answer out of her either. For once in her life, she channels a bit of Sana through her. “I’m not upset?”

Kookeu barks in the distance. “Thank you, Kookeu.”

“I’m not,” she says, shrugging. “I’m just not.”

At her phone’s vibration, Nayeon almost hopes it’s Sana. But it’s not, Mina’s name appears on her screen in bold, white letters and she almost has it in her to decline.

 _“Sana just texted me,”_ she says without prompt, phone angled below her but the outcome is far from ugly. In fact, Mina still looks as pretty as ever. _“I don’t know why she didn’t text you but…”_

“But?”

Mina’s eyes crinkle at the corners, or from what Nayeon can make out from the pixels and her terrible signal. _“But she texted me. Said she’s been wandering Seoul and was too embarrassed to ask you where, y’know, you actually live. Which honestly isn’t all surprising, but considering she’s in love with you, I’d excuse it.”_

You can trust Mina to tell it to you straight.

Always.

Without fail.

“How is she lost?” Nayeon says, glaring at Mina through the screen. “I gave her an address—I even gave her a description of the surroundings.”

“ _Oh, did you?”_ Mina says wryly. “ _I mean, Sana did tell you she was terrible with directions, right?”_

Nayeon shakes her head. Mina’s phone shakes from her laughter. “ _Well, I can’t believe she’s still trying to get to your house after all this time. I would’ve given up.”_

She’s downstairs now, still dressed in a garish polka-dot pajama set.

 _“You kind of live in the middle of nowhere, apparently,”_ she says mildly. _“Which, honestly, isn’t too surprising,”_ Mina lands back onto her bed, and Nayeon settles her atop of a drawer as she hurriedly swaps her slippers for sneakers. _“I didn’t take you for much of a city girl._ ”

“I don’t live near school, but it’s not that far,” she insists indignantly, in frame enough Mina can see her pulling up her socks. “Can you text me where she is?”

 _“Mmm,”_ Mina hums. _“You really do live in the outskirts, though, Nay.”_

“My parents are honest people,” Nayeon reasons. “I had to beg them to let me go to this school in the first place, otherwise I’d be holed up in a private school in the countryside.”

Another zoom into Mina’s face. _“Really?”_

“Yes, really. Did you send the address?”

Mina blinks. Then blinks again. She rolls over to the otherside of the bed. Of course, Nayeon’s never done _this_ before with anyone, and seeing how Mina is comfortable showing how her entire room is decorated with posters of… well, Nayeon won’t speak on it, nor will she speak on Mina’s choice of pajamas.

_“Yes, lovebird, I have. Now go get your girl.”_

She sifts through the keys in a little dish beside the phone and—might not have or might have broken Mina’s speakers in the process—reluctantly frowns at the girl on call. “Not helping, Myoui.”

_“Wait! You’re definitely taking me with you!”_

Nayeon is definitely _not_ taking Mina with her. Even if it is through call, even if it’s through muffled audio as she virtually sits in the depths of her pocket. She doesn’t want some voice egging her on. (Not that she needs it in the first place.)

It takes a taxi-ride and short walk to spot Sana at a bus-stop.

City people are very different to her, Nayeon learns.

She’s not surprised about Sana only managing to navigate her way around tarmac and streetlights, and not through a little off-road path or trees. Not ignorant in that way, but different—sometimes it felt like a world away where Sana would talk about going to a party during class somewhere Nayeon would never think of going.

She imagines they think she’s just naturally foreign to it, normally people who’d rather have their heads stuck in books than a punch bowl don’t make it to an invite list. It’s fair enough, actually, they’d be out of place and no one wants an awkward party. Still, Nayeon preferred it that way. Or maybe she’s just gotten used to it.

It takes Nayeon a few minutes to persuade herself that Sana can make it home on her own. She had no obligation, really, to be here in the evening, or to sort it out herself. 

_**me:** I heard from Mina. _

_**me:** We can study another time. _

_**me:** :) _

**CONFESSION #19**

**Thank you for using the Student Council’s Confessions Booth. Please refrain from using any offensive or vulgar language.**

**My grades are taking a trip down to hell. Not to mention, that one old Maths teacher who takes five seconds to turn around fully retired, and now the new teacher’s got the senses of a hawk. How do I cheat on a test properly?**

**CONFESSION #24**

**Thank you for using the Student Council’s Confessions Booth. Please refrain from using any offensive or vulgar language.**

**So, theoretically, I go out with another girl that isn’t my girlfriend, and my girlfriend dumps me, the girl finds out but I still, like,** **_like_ ** **her. Hear me out, is it worth going after this girl if she’s rejected me several times?**

**CONFESSION #38**

**Thank you for using the Student Council’s Confessions Booth. Please refrain from using any offensive or vulgar language.**

**I heard you take things from a neutral view. Everyone I’ve told this to just calls me weird, but isn’t smelling everyone’s hair just cool? I can tell apart their different shampoos, too.**

Nayeon’s head is about to burst.

It’s become a sort of routine now, despite the student council having decent funds in the recent weeks. They were doing well, even had enough to fix the vandalism that’s blocked off the romance section in the library for a few months. Jihyo told her that the booth didn’t have to continue, and especially with the amount of students that enter everyday she’s surprised she gave her a choice.

Maybe, it's the thought that the only hope she has of talking to Sana without absolutely sabotaging herself, is to talk to her this way. And that’s if Sana would even bother to show up.

(God, Nayeon isn't a coward, is she?)

It’s a few minutes before the next person comes.

(Not to mention, the identity is too noticeable.)

Mina’s shoes clack against the floor. The curtain flaps open at one quick swipe and she takes a seat on the other side. No, Nayeon did not miss her good old fishnet confessional. And she definitely did not miss taking in concerns for an entire lunch time.

She settles on the seat with a thud, and Nayeon can hear her audibly shudder at the interior. “Sheesh,” she says, at her or the inside, she doesn’t know. “I knew you were inexperienced, but do you have to be this dense?”

Nayeon leans her head against the wall, relishing the moment of relaxation having her head hung after every confessor. She doesn’t like me _this,_ he dumped me _that_ —Nayeon ought to counsel herself if it wasn’t for the student council still acting entirely allergic to thought of it.

“Welcome to the Confessions Booth, Mina. Confess away.”

“Thank you,” Mina indulges. “But you’re not escaping my question.”

Nayeon scoffs. “I’m not escaping anything. I’m fulfilling my position as a dutiful employee under the student council, which means, being confidential.”

“We’re literally friends, Nayeon. Jihyo gets so worried about you sometimesthat half the reason I’m here is because of her.”

Something in Nayeon’s tingles. It’s nice. “Okay, well, you could’ve opened with that. Would’ve made me feel better.”

Mina rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you do this every week.”

“Trust me, neither can I,” Nayeon sets aside the self-pity for later. “What’s the other half of your reason?”

She rubs her hands together. It's diabolic. Nayeon is not a tragic hero, nor is Mina a villain, but the entirety of it makes her tremble. “Right, do you like her?”

“Do I what?”

Mina’s glare cuts through the divider.

“No comment.”

With an excited noise, Mina shoves weakly at the cardboard. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You’ll take it as nothing, thank you.”

After a few moments of Nayeon thinking she’s won, Mina’s voice echoes through the room.

“You totally do!” she counters, as if speaking a little louder wins the conversation, and hell, it just might, “you wouldn’t go out just to find Sana, would you? And you didn’t have to go during the camping trip, but you did. You even said yes to tutoring Sana! I rest my case.”

“You’re smart, Mina,” Nayeon says dryly. “But no. This isn’t a courtroom and that evidence is stupid.”

“ _Stupid,_ really?”

“What else would it be?”

“Uh, valid.”

Nayeon groans. “Nothing about this conversation is valid.”

“Maybe if you stopped listening to your brain,” the divider shifts when Mina pokes it, “and started listening to your heart,” and again, “then maybe it would make sense to you.”

Nayeon has both hands spread across the cardboard, more worried about the fact the whole construction wasn’t made for architectural longevity. Tape solves a lot of things.

“Do you realise how incredibly cringy you sounded?”

“I do,” she replies proudly. Another poke. “Did it work?”

Nayeon flinches when it moves. She supposes she’ll be a makeshift support beam in the meantime.

“Not at all, Mina.”

It’s about the most tolerable and longest whine Nayeon’s heard.

“Fine, then you’ll be happy to know she’s in the library, _trying_ to study. Like, really, she’s just on her phone. I haven’t seen her in there since freshman year, and she’s only there because that’s apparently your favourite place.”

“It is,” Nayeon sighs. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to rush over all sweaty and chivalrous so she doesn’t fail another test.”

Perhaps it’s all getting to her head. If she solved this one problem, it didn’t have to bother her anymore. She’s doing this out of the kindness of her heart, right? This whole thing will be over and done with as soon as she figures it out.

“I’ll even cover for you, what do you say in these things—advice right? I just listen and laugh occasionally at the weird ones?”

Nayeon ignores that comment. “Well, if it works. Are you being serious about this?”

“When am I not?”

She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do with that. She can vaguely make out Mina nodding, wherever that random bout of confidence came from. Unfortunately, Nayeon feels like she’s been punched in the gut.

Her eyes shoot up, landing immediately on the girl letting the light into her part of the booth. She’s not a vampire, but she’s a token one with the way she cowers back into herself at the sight.

“Way to ruin the simulation,” Nayeon deadpans.

Luckily, Mina is sometimes patient, and one of those times being today, she lets Nayeon wordlessly agree and shift out of the booth so Mina can take a seat. It doesn’t suit her, it looks like she’s been forcibly placed in there, but she seems happy to be taking the spot.

“Really, don’t worry about me, I can handle a few talkers.”

It’s not that Nayeon didn’t have faith in her.

(Or, well, she absolutely didn’t.)

But she lets the door close behind her and heads for the stairs.

Nayeon loved the library. She spent most of her time here. A library with Sana in it, not so much—or maybe a little more.

(Goosebumps. That’s a thought she’ll keep buried indefinitely.)

“Hi,” Nayeon says.

It was obvious where Sana would be. She knew the ins and outs of this place like she owned it. Most of all, Sana wouldn’t be sitting near the chess nerds, or the extremely large group of them from a maths class occupying two whole tables. She’s sat, quite rightly, in Nayeon’s quiet spot.

Sana stiffens, as if someone had caught her doing something she shouldn’t be, and her neck cranes up slowly to Nayeon, who takes a leisurely seat across the table. Books spread out the place to fake some sort of studying, since her phone is firmly gripped in her hands and Nayeon notices the spot of dried saliva from a small nap. It came together all of a sudden, Sana wasn’t always as cool and collected as she made herself out to be to everyone else.

Nayeon ignores the pink on Sana’s cheeks, first of all.

“Oh, hi.” Sana places her phone down. Okay, good start. Nayeon didn’t really think past this point. It was good and all, actually stepping foot in the room. She believed in herself as far as getting to the entrance and well, that was it. Faith in herself was a touchy subject. She rattles her brain for some solution, and opts for small conversation.

“So, you’re studying now?”

Sana smiles a little and cocks an eyebrow at her expectant face. “I have my reasons, I do.”

“About what?”

Nayeon did not prepare for this.

“About not coming over,” she huffs. Sana folds her arms from her relaxed position, leaning back into the wooden frame of her chair. “I did get lost, like, seriously, I can’t go anywhere without someone. And by the time I realised how long I had spent trying to figure out a bus route—”

“—I sent you that text.”

“You sent me that text.”

Nayeon’s eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you text me?”

(Oh. That’s a bold one.)

Even Sana’s taken a little aback. “Because,” her chin tilts up like she was totally justified, “you didn’t send one at first. I thought you were mad.”

“Why would I be?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you be? I know you wouldn’t get it, but I’ve disappointed a lot of people just from being a few minutes late, and I guess I figured you wouldn’t be too different.”

(Hold on. What _people?)_

“People I’ve dated before,” Sana clarifies. “Not that—um, you know, we would. But it’s the same. No one’s really invited me to hang out if they didn’t want something else in the end. I guess I was just too excited I didn’t plan ahead.”

Nayeon feels like dropping off the face of the earth.

Excited? For a study session?

She didn’t feel like a moron, her pride wouldn’t allow it, but she’d sure label herself one. And Sana—it was a simple thing, really, Nayeon had tutored people before and it hadn’t been much other than going through some things they didn’t know and random questions.

In other words, all the apparent exhilarating, fun stuff to Sana.

“Well,” Nayeon feels the warmth behind her ribs. “You don’t have to feel sorry, or anything. There’s always a next time,” she says, sitting taller.

That time debating whether or not she was upset Sana didn’t turn up? Never happened. Not one thing does she recall from a moment so ridiculous. As if Nayeon would ever, _ever_ do something like that.

“That’s good,” Sana chirps, smile reinvigorated, as if she’d just been brought back to life. It’s contagious. Sana’s contagious. “I didn’t want you to hate me again, or anything.”

Something whips Nayeon back to reality. _Hate._ What a truly confusing feeling.

“You think I ever did?”

“Is that not a given? You were definitely mad at me during camping. That’s why I asked to study with you,” Nayeon’s face is entirely blank. “I guess you’re kind of stupid for a nerd, still.”

“Just because you’re a cheerleader, or just because of something I said, doesn’t mean I hate you,” Nayeon says, a little quiet, and with a little subdued horror. “You weren’t the best person, I admit that.”

“It’s not just that!” Sana leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, “you stared at me all weird in class when I got a question wrong, which is every question, or you’d smile and I’d think you were silently calling me an idiot. Then, that time I approached you, you seemed like you were terrified. Which, by the way, there’s not much terrifying about me, honestly. Plus, who’s scared by this smile? It’s cute, not scary!”

Nayeon’s lips tune upwards. It forms easily, just to match it. “Sure.”

“You agree?”

This is a trick. It must be.

Nayeon gets fooled far too often for her own liking.

 _You agree?_ Blasphemous.

Nayeon isn’t so dumb as to slip up and indirectly call her cute. That’s something reserved for the true idiots. The type that falls in love, which is, galaxies and galaxies away from ever being associated with her.

She coughs, saves herself a little time to process it. “I never said such a thing.”

“But you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

“I said I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Sana shot her an impish look. “Am I supposed to suddenly believe you?”

Two can play this game.

“What about the time in front of the cafeteria, what were you _actually_ going to say?”

Sana sinks back into her chair. Her face is rid of all wicked intention, and Nayeon almost feels triumphant, that is, until Sana decides now is the time to be the confident, cocky person that everyone sees her as.

“That I was supposed to ask you on a date? I recall.”

The Nayeon of a few minutes ago or so was poised. Completely calm and having the time of her life joining in with the fun, rather than being the source of said fun. After all, she’s never talked to anyone like this before. 

But the library light flickers across her face a little, in time for Nayeon’s internal breakdown to completely consume every crook in her face.

“You—” Nayeon retracts her accusatory finger, bites back the feeling in her throat, “you’re joking, right?”

Sana laughs, mindful of the noise level, cheeks raised with an honest glint in her eye. Nayeon is still embracing her inner statue, and she feels as if she moves it’ll break the whole effect. (She’s still in the processing stage.)

“Of course I am,” she says finally, letting Nayeon’s shoulder relax from the few inches they were raised. Ascending to heaven was not part of her plans today. “You wouldn’t date me, would you?”

Nayeon clears her throat. “Why would you ask—”

“We don’t really know each other, Nayeon,” Sana starts. This is, what, a role reversal? Shouldn’t this be Nayeon’s job? “So, you know, do you think we could have lunch together? From now on, I mean. You can teach me things, and I’ll buy you lunch in return.”

And there it is, that feeling pooling in her stomach whenever she’s with Sana. It’s not like Sana didn’t feel it too. Sure, she’s had way more experience, and she’s probably not used to people being as closed off as Nayeon.

For her, maybe this would’ve all been easier if Nayeon was just like everyone else.

“Oh, and, don’t worry about expenses, I’m not the best cook, so I buy my lunches anyway,” she adds, sheepish. “I can cook eggs, though. Do you like omelettes?”

Nayeon doesn’t give it a second thought.

(She does, _God,_ she really does.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi... im back... merry early christmas
> 
> [im here](https://twitter.com/vocalistmina)


End file.
